Chapter 1: The Bathroom Floor
“Eat it. If you don’t, you won’t get dinner.””
I still remember those words more clearly than the sound of my own crying.
The bowl was sitting on the cold bathroom floor between my knees. A few pieces of dog food floated in a little water, turning soft and disgusting. The smell made my stomach twist, but the fear of making my stepmother angry was stronger.
From the other side of the bathroom door, I could hear laughter.
Not mine.
Not my father’s.
Hers.
My stepmother, Victoria, was sitting at the kitchen table with her son, Brandon, eating the expensive steak my father had paid for.
While I sat on the floor like an animal.
I was twelve years old when I learned that cruelty did not always look like a monster.
Sometimes it wore perfume.
Sometimes it smiled while serving dessert.
Sometimes it called itself family.
“Mom, can I have more mashed potatoes?”” Brandon asked.
I heard Victoria laugh softly.
“Of course, sweetheart. You need to eat well. You’re growing.””
I looked down at the bowl in front of me and swallowed the lump in my throat.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run to my father.
But Dad was hundreds of miles away working to support us. He believed Victoria was taking care of me. He believed the woman he married after my mother passed away was giving me the love I needed.
He had no idea what happened when he wasn’t home.
“Stop crying,” Victoria said suddenly from behind the door.
I froze.
“How did you know I was crying?”” I whispered.
She opened the door slightly. Her expensive necklace caught the kitchen light.
“You’re always crying,” she said coldly.
“Always acting like a victim.””
“I didn’t do anything wrong.””
Her face hardened.
“You talked back to Brandon.””
“I just told him those cookies were mine. Dad bought them for me.””
Victoria smiled, but there was no kindness in it.
“Everything in this house belongs to me now.””
The words hit harder than the punishment.
She closed the door again.
I sat there in silence.
That night, I didn’t eat.
I pretended to.
When Victoria finally allowed me out, I quietly walked upstairs to my room. My stomach hurt, but I refused to let her see me break.
My room was the smallest one in the house.
Brandon had the biggest bedroom because, according to Victoria, “a boy needs space.””
My old drawings were removed from the hallway because she said they made the house look cheap.
My mother’s photo disappeared from the living room because Victoria said, “We need to stop living in the past.””
But I kept a small picture hidden inside my pillowcase.
It was the only thing she hadn’t taken.
I held it that night and whispered:
“Mom, I don’t know how long I can do this.””
The next morning, I woke up before sunrise.
I heard Victoria talking on the phone downstairs.
At first, I ignored it.
Then I heard my father’s name.
I slowly opened my bedroom door.
Her voice floated up the stairs.
“Yes, Daniel, everything is fine.””
I stopped breathing.
Daniel was my father.
“I bought the groceries yesterday. The bills are paid. Don’t worry about anything.””
I frowned.
Something felt wrong.
Because I knew the refrigerator was nearly empty.
I knew the electricity had been turned off twice that month.
I knew I was wearing shoes with holes because Victoria said new ones were “unnecessary.””
But my father sent money every month.
A lot of money.
He always told me:
“I’m working hard so you never have to worry.””
I stepped closer to the stairs.
Victoria continued.
“Your daughter is doing great. She’s adjusting.””
I almost laughed.
Adjusting?
Was that what she called locking me in bathrooms?
Was that what she called taking away my meals?
Was that what she called making me feel invisible?
I heard my father say something through the phone.
Victoria smiled.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m using the money exactly how you asked. For the family.””
My heart started beating faster.
The family.
That phrase stayed in my head.
Because I suddenly wondered…
What if I wasn’t part of that family anymore?
That afternoon, while Victoria and Brandon went shopping, I searched through the kitchen cabinets.
Not because I wanted revenge.
Because I was hungry.
Behind a stack of old magazines, I found an envelope.
It had my father’s handwriting on it.
I knew that handwriting anywhere.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a bank statement.
And what I saw made my entire body go cold.
The account was supposed to contain money Dad had sent home for our family expenses.
Food.
Bills.
School supplies.
My eyes moved down the page.
Then stopped.
Thousands of dollars were gone.
Not spent on groceries.
Not spent on bills.
Not spent on anything I recognized.
At the bottom of the statement was a name.
Victoria.
And next to it were purchases that made my stomach turn.
Designer clothes.
Luxury spa treatments.
Expensive restaurants.
Weekend hotel stays.
I covered my mouth.
She wasn’t struggling.
She wasn’t trying her best.
She was taking everything my father gave us…
And spending it on herself.
I heard the front door open.
I quickly shoved the papers back.
But before I could hide completely, I heard Brandon’s voice.
“What are you doing?””
I turned around.
He was standing there with a smirk.
And in his hand…
Was my father’s bank envelope.
“How long have you been stealing from us?”” he asked.
I stared at him.
“What?””
He laughed.
“You heard me.””
The smile on his face told me something.
He wasn’t surprised.
He already knew.
May you like
And then he said the one sentence that made my blood run cold.
“Mom said you would eventually find out.””