Chapter 4: Lines Drawn, Hearts Chosen

The news spread through town faster than wildfire. Some people congratulated her, others whispered behind her back—at Bible study, or in the church parking lot.

Mrs. McCarthy from next door always said in front of me, "Your mom’s pregnant. Once she has a big, healthy boy, she won’t want you anymore."

She said it with a sly smile, her words cutting deeper than she realized. I tried to ignore her, but it hurt all the same.

My throat tightened, but I couldn’t say a word.

I stared at the ground, blinking back tears. I didn’t want anyone to see how much it bothered me.

But I thought, I’m already twelve. Even if Mom doesn’t want me, I’m already grateful for these six years she’s raised me.

I tried to convince myself I’d be okay, no matter what happened. I was tough—I’d survived worse.

At twelve, I could support myself. (Naively.) I could do what Mrs. McCarthy said—go to the plant and work the assembly line.

I pictured myself in a blue uniform, punching a time card, earning my own way. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was something.

When Mom heard this, she rushed out the door, yelling, "How can you be so rotten, saying this in front of a child? Are you so bored because you’ve finished all your chores? If you have nothing to do, come clean out my chicken coop! See if my coop stinks more or your mouth!"

Her voice echoed down the street. Mrs. McCarthy turned red, mumbling an apology before slipping back inside. Mom always had a way with words.

Mrs. McCarthy left embarrassed, quietly closing her door.

I almost felt sorry for her, but mostly I was relieved. Mom had defended me again.

After scolding her, Mom glared at me. "Do you believe everything people say? Use your head, Autumn."

She softened a little, brushing the hair out of my eyes. “You’re my daughter, no matter what anyone else says.” That word—daughter.

My nose tingled, and I almost couldn’t hold back my tears.

I wiped my eyes quickly, not wanting her to see me cry. But she knew. She always knew.

At dinner, Frank brought up my studies for the first time.

He cleared his throat, pushing his plate away. I felt a knot form in my stomach, sensing trouble.

He looked at Mom for a long time, set down his fork, thought for a while, and said, "I think Autumn should just finish middle school. Nine years of school is enough. If she goes to high school or college, how much will that cost? Even if I work myself to death, I can’t earn that much."

His words hung in the air, heavy and final. I felt my dreams slipping away with every syllable.

Mom slammed her fork on the table. "I don’t care what outsiders say, but why are you saying this? Let me be clear: Autumn has to go to school. If you can’t accept that, we can get a divorce. I can raise two kids on my own."

She glared at him, her jaw set. I’d never seen her so fierce. For the first time, I realized just how far she’d go for me.

Frank finally agreed with Mom and never brought it up again.

He muttered something under his breath, but Mom shot him a look that shut him up for good.

At night, I lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

I stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster, wondering if I was being selfish for wanting more.

I thought about the neighbors and Frank’s words.

Their voices echoed in my mind, telling me I was a burden, that I’d never amount to anything. Numbers, numbers, numbers.

Three years of middle school, three years of high school, four years of college. If I kept studying, the burden on Mom’s shoulders would only get heavier.

I did the math over and over, trying to figure out how to make it work. I wished I could make money, too, to take some of the weight off her.

Just then, I heard rustling outside my door.

The old floorboards creaked, and my heart skipped a beat. I pulled the covers up to my chin, suddenly wide awake. The hallway nightlight flickered under the door.

Since third grade, Mom had cleared out the storeroom to make it my bedroom. She even put up pink wallpaper, and the curtains and bedding were all pink—from the Target sale aisle.

She’d said, “What girl doesn’t like pink?” and I’d nodded, even though I wasn’t sure I did. But it made the room feel like mine.

I still remember her saying, "What girl doesn’t like pink?"

She’d smiled as she said it, her eyes soft. It was the first time I felt like I had a space of my own.

The noise outside interrupted my thoughts. It got louder, and with a creak, the door opened.

My heart pounded in my chest. I froze, listening as footsteps crossed the room. The floorboard chirped.

Moonlight stretched the shadow of the person in the doorway. I pulled my quilt tighter and curled up inside.

The silhouette loomed over me, blocking out the light. I could smell sweat and something sour, fear prickling down my spine.

A wave of sweat and stench hit me. That person pressed down on me.

I tried to shrink away, but there was nowhere to go. The weight was suffocating, crushing the air from my lungs.

The heavy weight made it hard to breathe.

I stared at him, thoughts racing, my heart pounding. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. I wanted to scream, but then I thought of my pregnant mom.

I wanted to cry out, but my voice caught in my throat. I was terrified—terrified of what would happen if I made a sound.

If I screamed, would I still be able to stay in this home?

Would Mom choose me, or this man?

I didn’t dare to risk it.

I just clung to the quilt, bit my lip, and stayed silent.

My whole body shook. I felt like a trapped animal, powerless and small. I prayed for it to be over.

In my panic, Frank knocked over the glass on my nightstand.

The crash shattered the silence, echoing through the house like a gunshot.

With a crash, the sound was especially loud in the quiet night.

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for what would happen next. My breath came in shallow gasps.

Frank held his breath. I was so scared I didn’t dare breathe.

The room felt frozen in time. I could hear my own heartbeat, loud and frantic.

The next second, the light clicked on.

Mom’s face appeared in the doorway, her eyes blazing with fury. She looked at Frank, then at me, and something in her snapped.

Mom’s eyes were red as she yelled, "You monster, you sick bastard, you deserve to rot in hell! Try me!"

Her voice was raw, shaking with rage and fear. For a moment, I didn’t know who she was yelling at—me or him.

For a moment, I couldn’t tell if Mom was yelling at me or Frank. I buried my head in the quilt, not daring to look at her.

I hid from her gaze, ashamed and terrified. I didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes.

"Emma, listen to me, I was just checking if Autumn was covered up."

Frank’s voice was desperate, but Mom wasn’t buying it. Her hands clenched around the broom, ready to strike.

With a bang, something heavy hit the ground.

The broom came down hard, thudding against Frank’s back. He yelped, scrambling to get away.

I peeked out from under the quilt. Mom’s broom was already coming down on Frank. "You animal, you dare touch my daughter? I’ll beat you to death!"

Her words were a promise, not a threat. I’d never seen her so fierce, so protective. For the first time, I felt truly safe.

When I came to my senses, my face was already wet with tears.

I wiped my cheeks, the tears coming faster now. Relief and fear tangled together inside me.