Chapter 4

When Emily heard the word "stepmother," she shot to her feet, furious. "Who are you calling a stepmother? I have nothing to do with this worthless brat.

"If Richard's daughter messes up, he has every right to discipline her. Why are you acting like a bunch of busybodies, sticking your noses where they don't belong?"

The cops ignored Emily and shifted their focus back to my dad. "How are you related to this kid? And how did she get hurt?

"We got a report that someone here was abusing a child, and that the kid's head was bleeding. Is that true?"

"No, sir, I tripped and hit my head by accident. My dad didn't hit me," I said quickly.

Seeing my dad struggling to answer, I stepped forward to help him out. "I didn't do well on my exam, so my dad just scolded me a bit. He didn't hit me, I swear."

Since I, the kid, said my dad didn't hit me, the cops kept checking to make sure I wasn't being pressured. Once they were sure, they dropped it, asked a few more questions, and took off.

As my dad and I walked the cops out, the lead officer turned back to give my dad a warning.

"Hitting or abusing a child is against the law. Even if it weren't you this time, you'd better watch yourself from now on," he said.

My dad kept nodding, saying yes, and only closed the door after the cops were out of sight.

"Since you've been getting picked on at school, I'm letting you off just this once." His finger was almost jabbing me in the nose. "But if I find out you gave my cash to your mom again, I'll beat you to death."

My dad stopped giving me money, and I stopped asking him for it.

He gave me ten thousand, I handed eight thousand to my mom, and kept two thousand for myself.

As long as I didn't waste it, that two thousand would be enough to get me through these days.

My mom used the money I gave her to rent a second-floor apartment near my school and set up a little restaurant for the kids.

She'd been cooking for my dad for over ten years and even got a chef's license for him, so making meals for students was a piece of cake for her.

With me spreading the word at school, her restaurant quickly attracted a bunch of classmates and filled up in no time.

The food at the school cafeteria was worse than pig slop, but my mom's cooking won over tons of parents. Everyone was complaining that there weren't enough spots for their kids.

I knew that, besides earning some money, my mom really wanted to be closer to me, so she could see me every day.

But good things never last. I'd barely been eating at my mom's restaurant for two weeks when the health department suddenly showed up for an inspection.

Even though she had all the right paperwork, the health department found fault with everything, saying her kitchen didn't separate raw and cooked food.

They ordered her to close up and fix things, all the while insisting it was because someone had reported her.

At that moment, Emily's nasty, resentful face flashed through my mind.

I bet she was the one who ratted me out to my dad about giving money to my mom last time.

Ugh, it was so annoying. I'd already swallowed my pride, but she still acted like it meant nothing.

That night, I brought her a glass of warm milk, like I did every day. "Emily, here's your milk."

Ever since my mom and dad split and she got kicked out, making sure Emily got her glass of warm milk, without fail, was part of my daily routine.

If the milk was too hot or too cold, she'd chew me out, and her scolding always meant my dad would take it out on me.

The cops might as well not have come. My dad didn't hold back at all, even after their warning.