Chapter 2

Courtney only started working that street cart because my dad died.

Before he left, he told me he was going out of town to be Superman. He promised he would be back in a few days.

A few days later, he was lying on a metal slab in the county morgue.

Courtney refused to let me see his body.

I sobbed and begged her to tell me why, but she wouldn't say a word. She just sat there, crying.

Only when Carter Knight, my dad's superior, arrived did her wall of dignity finally crumble. She came undone, lashing out at him with a hysterical fury, her hands striking him over and over as she lost all control.

"You said he was just doing surveillance. You said he was just helping catch a fugitive," she screamed. "Why did they butcher him like that? Tell me. Tell me."

Carter stood there in his police uniform, gripping his cap so tight that his knuckles were white. Trembling, he was sobbing.

"I... I'm so sorry. I couldn't protect Wyatt," he choked out. "There were a few of us embedded at the site. Wyatt stayed back to buy me time to get out. The drug cartel got him. I'm... I'm so sorry."

At his words, Courtney collapsed onto the floor.

While they were talking, I slipped away. I crept down the cold tile hallway and snuck into the morgue.

But the moment I pulled back the white sheet covering my father, I went numb. I just stood there, staring, unable to move a single muscle.

There was no body. It was just my dad's head.

The sobs got trapped in my throat, choking me.

Courtney scrambled toward me, throwing her arms around me in a suffocating embrace.

"Kaylee, don't look," she sobbed. "Please, God, don't look."

*****

For a long time after that, that image haunted my sleep.

Sometimes, I would dream of my dad's severed head smiling at me.

"Look, Kaylee. I got you that strawberry bear you wanted," he would say.

Other times, the head would just stare at me with dead eyes, asking, "Kaylee, do you know where my uniform went?"

I would wake up screaming, drenched in a cold sweat.

Courtney said I had PTSD. She took me to child psychologists.

She even quit her job as a middle school teacher to look after me full-time.

She stayed by my side from then on. To keep us afloat, she even bought a food cart and started selling grilled cheese and hot dogs on the corner.

Back then, I loved Courtney. I loved her with a desperation only a grieving child could understand.

One day after school, I headed to the stall to give Courtney a hand, only to spot Carter.

The man Courtney claimed had gotten my dad killed had his arms wrapped tightly around her, kissing her right there on the sidewalk.

In that moment, my reality shattered.

Blind rage took over. I charged at them. Knocking over a rack of condiments, I grabbed a serrated kitchen knife from the cart, lunging straight for Carter.

But Courtney slapped me hard across the face.

"I need a new life too," she screamed at me as her face flushed with defensive anger.

Completely stunned, I stood there, the knife slipping from my fingers.

It reminded me of the way my grandmother, Ashley Farmer, would visit, always urging Courtney to remarry.

Ashley warned Courtney that she couldn't waste her prime years raising a traumatized kid.

To Ashley, my dad was just cursed with a short life. It was his own fault for dying on the job, even as a police officer.

She kept pushing Courtney to find a decent man, have a son, and secure her future because apparently, a daughter like me was nothing but a burden. "If you don't," Ashley snapped, "you'll end up dying lonely and miserable."

Back then, I never worried that Courtney would abandon me.

When my dad was alive, Courtney used to roll her eyes and say her parents were deeply backwards.

But now, I finally believed it the moment I caught her kissing Carter.

Courtney calmly handed me a folded piece of paper. It was a sonogram.

"Kaylee, I'm pregnant," she said, her voice eerily steady. "It's Carter's. We're getting married."

In that moment, I couldn't hold back the searing pain surging through my chest anymore. I snapped, lashing out at her with a hysterical scream.

"You're getting married?" I shrieked. "What about Dad? Have you already forgotten him?"

I would never forget the flash of profound agony in her eyes.

"Kaylee Reed, I need a life of my own."

"So your new life is carrying another man's bastard just because it's a boy?" I spat the words through clenched teeth, feeling nothing but rage.

Mom slapped me right across the face without a second thought.

"Kaylee, shut your mouth," she yelled. "The baby I'm carrying is mine, too. He's not a bastard."

I looked at the absolute disgust written all over her face, and I just kept laughing. Tears blurred my vision, but the laughter wouldn't stop.

Back then, I didn't get it.

Everyone called my dad a hero.

But in the end, it felt like everyone was just racing to erase him from existence.