Chapter 1
When I turned sixty-five, my husband's old flame, Valda Leonard, was diagnosed with a terminal illness. There were only two months left on her clock.
To look after her, my husband, Addison Harding, insisted she move into our home.
My family started treating her like she was the most important person in the world.
I spent my whole life taking care of my husband, supporting my son, and raising my granddaughter, June Harding.
Even after all that, I still had to look after the woman Addison'd always loved.
It wasn't until I knocked over a bottle of pills that I finally left the house.
*****
When I rushed home, Valda was on her tiptoes, reaching for the medicine bottle on the shelf.
She was quite short. After a few tries, she nearly lost her balance.
I hurried over to help her out, but she shoved me away. The bottle wobbled and spilled everywhere on the floor.
I grimaced as I got up, about to fetch the broom.
But just as I turned around, I heard Valda step on the scattered pills and smack into the table leg. Tears instantly sprang to her eyes from the pain.
Almost instantly, Addison came rushing down the stairs in a panic.
He was running so fast he crashed straight into me.
The broom handle jammed against my stomach, making my guts churn.
He didn't even look at me. He went straight for Valda, lifting her up with worry all over his face. "Valda, what happened?"
Valda kept quiet, glancing from the pills scattered all over the floor to me, looking all pitiful, like it was all my fault.
Addison shot me a frown, picked Valda up, and sat her on the table. Bending down, he pressed on her sore waist, his voice carrying clear blame.
He said, "She's sick. Is it really that hard to keep an eye on her?
"Her waist's been hurt for years and never fully healed—she can't take another hit."
Valda gazed up at him, tears shining in her eyes, her voice as soft as a whisper. "Addison, so you still remember this."
The broom fell from my hand in silence.
The soup in the pot began to spill over.
The washing machine's buzzer wouldn't stop blaring.
The phone rang for so long that eventually it switched to speaker by itself. My son, Samson Harding, called us.
He said, "Mom, do you know what time it is? Why haven't you picked up June yet?
"You're in your sixties. How is this still too much for you?
"What if someone snatches June away?"
Before I could even get a word out, the call ended with a beep.
I felt a great amount of pressure, like it was about to crush me.
Lost in a fog, I slapped at the half-empty bottle of pills, and it went rolling right to Addison's feet.
Valda flinched, shrinking behind him with wide, frightened eyes.
He shielded her with one arm, frowning. "Kyla, what's wrong with you?"
Addison turned around and carried Valda on his back, sounding completely indifferent.
He said, "I'm taking her to the hospital. We won't be back for lunch. Just clean up and go pick up June. Don't make her wait."
Without another glance at me, Addison headed out the door with Valda on his back.
I stared at the chaos all around, pressing my hand to my aching stomach as I swallowed two stomach pills.
After taking a breath, I opened the pot, and the scalding soup splattered onto my hand before I could react.
I hurried to run cold water over my burned hand.
No matter how much I scrubbed, the deep red welts just wouldn't fade.
Soon, a shiny blister began to bubble up on the back of my hand.
I sat down by the wall, burying my face in my knees. I stayed like that until night fell. No one came through the kitchen door.
When I finally staggered to my feet, the door suddenly burst open. June dashed in, her face beaming with joy.
She said, "I don't want Grandma Valda to help me with my homework. I want her!"
Samson came in after June, his face dark with anger. "Mom, have you gotten so wrapped up that you can't even take care of June?"
He glanced down and noticed my reddened, swollen hand, then took in the mess I was in, frowning. "Don't let this happen again.
"June waited outside her kindergarten until it got dark, crying when she called me. You have no idea how anxious I was..."
I wanted to speak up, but the words just wouldn't come out.
Samson's phone suddenly started ringing. He snatched it up and switched to his business voice without missing a beat. "Mr. Jackson, I am on my way right now!"
The front door slammed shut behind him.
Under the lights, my shadow felt as weightless and unnoticed as a slip of paper.
June bounced in, tossing her backpack onto the couch, and reached out her hand. "Hey, where's my dinner?"
I rushed to the kitchen and scooped up the remaining soup from the pot.
She glanced at it, wrinkling her little nose, face full of disappointment.
She asked, "Do we have to eat soup every day? I'm really tired of it.