Chapter 2

Nearly two hours after Graham left the auditorium, I heard the front door of our house open.

Graham walked in with Daphne, Nico, and two suitcases.

“Why do they have luggage?” I asked.

“Daphne and Nico will stay here for a few days,” Graham said, as though the decision had already been made.

Then I saw what Nico was holding.

It was the limited-edition writing set Graham had promised to give Sylvie if she won.

The silver fountain pen had her name engraved across the barrel.

Now the box was crushed.

Blue ink stained the white velvet lining, and several scratches cut through the letters of Sylvie’s name.

“Nico got curious in the car,” Graham explained. “He only opened it.”

“That wasn’t his to open,” I said.

“Maren, don’t start.”

“You missed your daughter’s ceremony, then let another child destroy her gift.”

“He didn’t destroy it. The pen still works.”

Graham took the pen from Nico and wiped it against his sleeve.

Then he placed it inside the damaged box and held it toward Sylvie.

“There. It’s fine.”

Sylvie looked at the scratches across her name.

Graham smiled as if the matter had already been settled.

“Nico had a frightening day. Sylvie has always been sensible. She won’t mind.”

Again, he was asking our daughter to make his choice easier.

Sylvie slowly pushed the box back toward him.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t want it anymore.”

Graham’s smile froze.

“You’ve wanted this for months.”

“Not anymore.”

She turned and walked toward her bedroom.

Nico immediately followed her, dragging his suitcase behind him.

I stepped into his path.

“Where is he going?”

Graham answered for him.

“He’ll sleep in Sylvie’s room tonight.”

“No.”

“It’s one night, Maren.”

“Daphne and Nico can stay in the guest suite.”

“Nico needs somewhere he feels safe. Daphne will take the guest room.”

“And our daughter loses her room?”

“Sylvie can sleep with us. Stop making everything difficult.”

Sylvie stood silently in her doorway.

Her trophy remained on the desk.

The Someday Jar was hidden inside her closet.

Now her father was giving her bedroom to the same child he had chosen over her.

She entered the room, took her pajamas and schoolbag, then removed the jar from the closet.

Nico rushed past her and dropped his suitcase beside her bed.

Sylvie didn’t protest.

She simply closed the door behind him.

She didn’t look at her father.

Not once.

That night, she slept beside me with the jar held tightly against her chest.

Graham remained in the living room, ordering food for Daphne and Nico.

He never came to check on his daughter.

After Sylvie fell asleep, I carried the jar into the dark kitchen.

I photographed the thirty-eight folded notes, the school program with Graham’s reserved seat and the damaged writing set.

Then I opened my laptop and created a folder.

I named it Broken Promises.

I had just uploaded the first photograph when footsteps sounded in the hallway.

The kitchen light switched on.

Graham stood in the doorway.

“What are you doing?”

I closed the laptop.

“Sending pictures from the ceremony to Sylvie’s teacher.”

His eyes moved toward the jar.

For one terrible second, I thought he would open it.

Then Daphne called his name from the living room.

Graham turned away without another question.

I waited until his footsteps disappeared before taking my phone into the bathroom and locking the door.

Then I called the family lawyer a colleague had recommended months earlier.

“My daughter and I need to leave,” I whispered. “But my husband can’t know until we’re gone.”

The lawyer listened without interrupting.

“I can arrange temporary housing, prepare the emergency custody request and secure copies of the financial records,” she finally said. “But I need forty-eight hours.”

“Will that be enough?”

“It has to be. Until then, gather your identification, your daughter’s medical and school documents and anything proving the pattern of neglect. Don’t pack anything he’ll notice.”

A shadow passed beneath the bathroom door.

Someone stopped outside.

My hand tightened around the phone.

“Maren?” Graham called.

I ended the call and turned on the faucet.

“Just washing my face.”

He remained outside for several seconds.

Then his footsteps moved away.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror.

In the bedroom, Sylvie was sleeping in my bed because her father had given hers away.

In the living room, Graham was laughing with the family he had chosen to bring home.

Graham believed we would tolerate it as we always had.

He was wrong.

Forty-eight hours until we left.