Chapter 2: The Sheep at the Door

The room was dim and quiet. Everyone else was asleep—just Grandma and me, side by side.

The clock ticked on, slow and steady. Moonlight spilled through the frosted glass. Grandma’s breathing slowed, and I could feel her heart beating against my cheek. That was the closest I’d ever felt to her.

After eating, Grandma hugged me close, lowered her voice, and said slowly:

"My whole life, it was worth it."

Her words wrapped around me like a blanket. I felt the weight of everything she’d ever lost and everything she’d ever loved, all in that moment. That’s the kind of thing you carry with you forever.

Moonlight came through the frosty window, shining on the old couch. It wrapped the chicken bone in my hand in a soft, silvery glow.

The snow outside caught the light, sparkling like diamonds. The house felt warmer, somehow, like Grandma’s love was enough to hold back the cold. I wanted that moment to last forever.

I couldn’t bear to throw away the bone. I held it tight in my hand. With Grandma comforting me, my eyes grew heavier and heavier. I drifted toward sleep, clinging to the memory.

I tucked the bone under my pillow, a talisman against the darkness. Grandma stroked my hair, humming a lullaby so old it barely had words.

Sleep crept in, gentle and slow.

Suddenly, with a loud crash, I woke up. My chest squeezed tight—I could barely breathe.

The door slammed open. Cold air rushed in, slicing through the warmth. My heart hammered in my chest. Grandpa’s shadow loomed over us, broomstick raised high. The room shrank around me, every corner filled with fear.

Grandpa planted himself in front of the couch, broomstick in hand, glaring at us. His jaw was set, eyes burning with something dangerous.

His eyes were wild, lips pressed into a thin line. The broomstick shook in his grip. For a second, I thought he might hit us both. My stomach twisted, and I curled closer to Grandma.

Grandma snatched the chicken bone from my hand, her fingers trembling. She put herself between me and Grandpa, voice barely above a whisper:

"It’s not Jamie’s fault. I was just too hungry. Please—don’t be angry."

Her voice was thin, but steady. She shielded me with her body, daring Grandpa to come closer. I clung to her, feeling her heart race against my cheek.

I nestled in Grandma’s arms, staring at Grandpa, bracing for what would happen. My mind raced, searching for a way out.

My fists clenched. My breath came in short bursts. I wanted to be brave, but fear pinned me in place. The world tilted, sharp and dangerous.

I don’t know where Mom came from, but suddenly she was there—pulling me out of Grandma’s arms, covering my mouth, dragging me down the hallway.

Her hands were shaking as she hustled me away. My tears soaked her palm, the salty taste filling my mouth. The cold air slapped my face, and I realized she was trying to keep me safe, even if it meant leaving Grandma behind.

Inside, Grandpa roared:

"You shameless, greedy old woman!"

A beat of silence.

"You think you deserve this?"

Another pause, sharper.

"This is for my eldest grandson!"

His voice thundered through the walls, shaking dust from the ceiling. It was the kind of anger that left bruises you couldn’t see.

Then came the dull thuds of the stick—one, then another—and Grandma’s muffled cries of pain.

Each blow landed heavier than the last, like they were breaking more than just bone. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear. My hands shook in Mom’s grip.

Mom held me tight. I cried and struggled, desperate to help Grandma. Dad, frustrated, slapped me a few times. Then he tied me up with a jump rope, his hands rough and quick.

His face was twisted, torn between shame and anger. The jump rope bit into my wrists, and I could feel the sting of his palm on my cheek. I screamed for Grandma, but the words died in my throat.

I heard Grandpa, tired from the beating, call Dad to help drag Grandma outside. Their boots stomped across the porch. They tossed her into the snowy yard, Grandpa saying she needed to learn her lesson.

The door slammed shut. The night swallowed up Grandma’s sobs.

In the depths of winter, it was more than ten below outside.

Grandma kept calling Dad’s childhood name:

"Danny, my little one..."

A pause, her voice shaking.

"Mama’s gonna freeze to death. Please let me in..."

A beat, then softer.

"At least let me die inside..."

Her voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper by the end. The words twisted through the night, clinging to the eaves like icicles.

I could see Dad sitting on the couch, hands over his ears, rocking back and forth. He looked like a little boy lost in a nightmare.

Dad covered his ears and curled up on the couch, his face twisted in pain. He never dared stand up to Grandpa. He always did as he was told.

He stared at the floor, eyes hollow. The house seemed to shrink around him, the walls pressing in. I wondered if he even heard Grandma at all, or if he’d already disappeared inside himself.

Grandma wailed for most of the night. Only as dawn approached did she finally go quiet.