Chapter 3: The Rules Have Changed

"Tomorrow, you’re coming with me to your job. We’re putting your paycheck in my name. From now on, every cent you earn goes to me!"

He barked the order like it was law, slamming his glass on the table. He always made the rules.

Just like last time, he downed the last of his cheap whiskey, glared at me, and spat out the order. Nothing ever changed.

The smell of cheap liquor hung in the air, clinging to everything. It never really left.

Back then, I begged my boss for help, but he refused. He didn’t get his way, so he took it out on Mom, burning her with cigarettes until her body was covered in scars.

The scars never really healed. She wore long sleeves, even in July, and flinched every time someone raised their voice. I hated myself for not being able to protect her.

He didn’t let me off either—every day after work, it was either cursing or beating. I never knew which was worse.

I learned to keep my head down, to move quietly, to hope he’d pass out before he remembered I was there. Hope was all I had.

And that wasn’t the end. Later, he somehow got in touch with a bunch of sleazy local reporters, dragged them to my workplace to make a scene, put on a sob story—fake illness, fake hardship—and screamed to anyone who’d listen that I was an ungrateful son who didn’t care if he lived or died. He made my life a circus.

Those shameless reporters hyped it up for clicks, joining him in painting me as the worst son in the world.

They spun tales about me on local news, their voices full of mock outrage. Strangers called for my head.

The outrage spread like wildfire. I became public enemy number one—everyone wanted a piece of me. I was hunted.

Angry people online bombarded Mom and me with hateful calls and texts, even mailed us razor blades and rotting meat at home and at work. The mailbox became a nightmare.

Under all that pressure, my company had no choice but to fire me. I couldn’t blame them.

I lost my job, couldn’t pay rent, couldn’t even afford food. I had to take Mom and crash wherever we could.

We bounced from shelter to shelter, sometimes spending nights in the backseat of my beat-up Honda. The city was cold.

But he still kept demanding money. If I couldn’t give him any, he’d beat me. He always found us.

It got so bad he once drugged me and sold me to some greasy pervert for a few hundred bucks to pay off a bet.

I woke up in a stranger’s apartment, chained to a radiator, the air thick with fear and humiliation. I still have nightmares.

Thinking back to the torture in that dark, damp little room, my stomach churned and my body ached all over. Some wounds never heal.

It took a long time for the pain to fade. Sometimes, I wonder if it ever really does.

I nodded, trying to look obedient. "Okay."

I kept my voice steady, my face blank. I’d learned how to hide my true feelings—how to keep him guessing.

"Yeah, that’s more like it." He loved breaking me down.

"You little bastard, don’t even think about rebelling again, or you’ll regret it."

He jabbed a finger in my direction, his words slurred but his intent clear. I nodded again, keeping my eyes on the floor. I knew better than to argue.

Seeing me nod, he flashed that disgusting, arrogant grin, then staggered off to the master bedroom. He always thought he won.

"Danny, you can’t give him your whole paycheck. If you do, you’ll never get free."

She looked at me like she finally saw me.

"My life is already over, but you can’t let him suck the life out of you too." I saw a spark in her eyes.

Once he was snoring in bed, Mom stumbled over to me, eyes wet with tears and full of worry. She moved quietly, always looking over her shoulder.

She glanced at the man snoring away, and in her tired eyes, I saw a flash of something dangerous. She’d never looked at him like that before.

I got it right away and grabbed her hand. "Mom, don’t worry. I’m only doing this so we can escape him."

I squeezed her hand, trying to pass her some of my resolve. She needed to know she wasn’t alone.

"I’ve got a plan. Please, don’t do anything foolish. We have to survive—together."

I searched her face, willing her to believe me. I couldn’t lose her again.

The memory was a knife to the gut. Not this time.

A sharp pain shot through my heart. I squeezed her hands tightly. I wouldn’t let go.

She squeezed back, her grip trembling but determined. Hope flickered inside me.

"Okay. I believe in you."

Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but it was enough. I nodded, swallowing hard.

"You’re right, Danny. We have to live. I can’t leave you alone in this world."

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, straightening her shoulders. The strength in her words surprised me.

Mom was already a mess of tears, but at least now there was a spark of life in her eyes. She gave me a shaky smile.

Thinking back, she was probably already depressed by this point last time, but I’d been too wrapped up in my own misery to notice. Guilt gnawed at me.