Chapter 6: The Break

Mom was stunned. Her mouth opened and closed, searching for words.

She bent down, took my shoulders, her eyes full of pain, and solemnly answered:

“It’s not you. It’s Dad’s fault. He shouldn’t have lied to Bella, making her think he was really her dad, and he shouldn’t have comforted someone else’s child while leaving his own daughter alone. You did nothing wrong—it’s his mistake. We shouldn’t stay here. Let’s go home.” Her words were strong, like a shield around me.

She immediately packed up and took me to Uncle Ben’s house. We tossed clothes into a suitcase, not caring what matched.

Uncle Ben welcomed us warmly. He swept us into a big bear hug, his Eagles cap askew, the scent of barbecue sauce still clinging to his shirt, making me feel safe for the first time in days.

He saw the sadness on Mom’s face and promised to get justice for her. He patted her back, swearing he wouldn't let anyone hurt his little sister.

Mom tried to stop him. She gripped his arm, pleading for calm.

But he said, he was her brother, and would never let his beloved sister be bullied. His voice was fierce, protective.

He went to the hospital—and never came back. The hours stretched, Mom growing more anxious with each passing minute.

Mom and I stayed at Uncle Ben’s house for three days. The clock ticked slowly, the air heavy with unspoken fears.

During those three days, Mom took time off for me, so I didn’t have to go to preschool. We slept in, made pancakes, watched cartoons together.

We watched Saturday morning cartoons with bowls of sugary cereal, sticky milk on our chins.

We kept each other company. Sometimes we'd play cards or just sit on the porch, listening to the cicadas.

We watched clouds drift by, counted the dew drops on the grass, picked wildflowers from the yard, and waited for the porch light to flicker on at dusk.

Those were rare moments of peace in our lives. I savored them, memorizing every detail.

Three days later, Uncle Ben returned. His clothes were wrinkled, his eyes rimmed red.

He looked haggard, his eyes hesitant, and said something heartbreaking:

“Lisa, can you make way for Angela? She’s sick…” His voice trembled, full of regret.

I stared at Uncle Ben in shock, unable to speak. My hero, suddenly so small.

Mom was stunned too. Her face went pale, her fists clenched.

That day, Mom told me to go to my room and be alone for a while. Her voice was flat, tired.

She and Uncle Ben had a loud argument in the den. Their voices rose and fell, muffled by the door.

Not long after, she left Uncle Ben’s house with me, her face dark. We packed up again, heading out with nowhere to go.

We wandered aimlessly through the city. It was so big, but there was nowhere we could call home. The streetlights flickered on as we walked, our shadows stretching long behind us.

Passing a flower shop, Mom bought a bouquet of pure white lilies. She handed the flowers to me, her fingers shaking.

We went to Grandma’s grave. The cemetery was quiet, just the distant rumble of a lawnmower and the scent of cut grass.

Mom placed the lilies on the grave and wept without restraint. Her shoulders shook, tears falling freely.

She whispered, “Mom, I should’ve listened to you. I’m sorry.” Her voice broke like a branch.

I’d heard Nanny Linda tell Mom and Dad’s love story: a mature, steady, successful businessman and an innocent college girl—two people from different worlds falling in love, finally becoming a couple. Linda always made it sound like magic.

Nanny Linda envied them, saying it was a real-life fairy tale. She’d sigh, “If only everyone could have that kind of love.”

But fairy tales are lies. Real life doesn’t care about happy endings.

In just six years, their love was destroyed by a third party. The fairytale crumbled, bit by bit.

I wanted to say: Mom, let’s go, get a divorce—don’t care about Dad anymore. Just run, take me with you, let’s start over.

But I couldn’t say it. My lips refused to move, my throat dry and raw.

It was as if there was a vice clamped over my mouth, pressing so hard I could barely breathe. I felt the panic rising, the urge to scream.

But Mom took the initiative to say, “Abby, if I divorce Dad, who will you go with?” Her eyes searched mine, desperate for hope.

In that moment, I felt saved. Like someone had thrown me a life raft.

The pressure finally lifted. I could breathe again, the air sweet and cold.

I burst into tears, angry and relieved. My sobs were loud, echoing in the empty cemetery.

“I’ll go with you, Mom.” The words came out in a rush.

Mom hugged me tightly, her whole body filled with determination. Her arms were strong, holding me together.

She really did ask Dad for a divorce. She stood tall, face to face with him in the kitchen, her voice steady.

But Dad didn’t take it seriously. He just shrugged, flipping through his phone.

He said, “Sign whatever you want, Lisa. I’ve got more important things to deal with.” His words were dismissive, cold.

Mom didn’t want to argue anymore. She turned away, her shoulders slumped.

She just left one sentence: “Sign the papers. I’ll leave. No one will bother you.”

She took me and left that home. We didn’t look back.

But Grandma wouldn’t let me go. She was waiting at the door, arms crossed.

“Abby is a member of the Miller family. You can leave, but my granddaughter stays.” Her voice left no room for argument.

Several security guards forcibly separated me from Mom. I clawed at the arms holding me, my screams echoing down the hall like a siren.

In that moment, I hated Grandma. My love for her shriveled up, replaced by pure fury.

I scratched, bit, kicked, and struggled with all my might. My nails broke, my feet bruised.

Mom was terrified. Her voice cracked as she called out to me.

“Abby, be good. Don’t hurt yourself. Never hurt yourself. Mom won’t leave. I’ll never leave you again.” She pressed her hand to the glass, her face streaked with tears.

I realized then: No. I couldn't be the reason she stayed. I had to be strong for her.

I couldn’t be Mom’s burden. If I made this harder, she’d suffer more.

I stopped struggling. My arms fell to my sides, limp.

“Mom, goodbye. I’ll wait for you to come back.” My voice was small but brave.

I quickly went back to my room, lay by the window, and watched Mom. The sky was overcast, the world blurry with rain.

She was crying. She wiped her tears away, trying to be strong for me.

She looked up at my window. I quickly ducked back. My heart hammered in my chest.

I hid behind the curtains, my heart pounding like a drum. My fists clenched in the fabric.

When I peeked out again, Mom was gone. The driveway was empty, the world silent.