Chapter 1
The living room smelled faintly of stale vanilla frosting and cheap balloons, a pathetic facade for a family tearing itself apart at the seams. Laura stood with her chest heaving underneath her burgundy long-sleeve top, her dark jeans damp with nervous sweat. In her right hand, she gripped the heavy wooden stick, the wood scarred and splintered from years of domestic abuse and silent endurance.
"Laura! Give me the money!" Laura screamed, her voice cracking with a mixture of desperation and furious betrayal.
Across the room, sixteen-year-old Iris backed away defensively, her hands raised in a trembling gesture of surrender. She wore a faded blue t-shirt and dark jeans, the fabric doing nothing to hide the dark, mottled bruises blooming across her slender left arm. Tears tracked hot and fast down her flushed cheeks, blurring her vision.
"What money are you talking about?" Iris sobbed, her voice a reedy, terrified squeak that barely carried over the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
Laura took a violent step forward, the wooden stick cutting through the stale air.
"Don't lie to me, Iris! You know where he hid the money!" Laura yelled, swinging the stick downward with blind, animalistic fury.
The blow missed Iris completely, crashing instead directly into the tiered birthday cake sitting in the center of the coffee table. Sponge cake and blue frosting exploded into the air, splattering violently across the room and coating Laura’s face in a thick, sticky mask of sugar.
Silence descended instantly upon the living room, heavy and suffocating. The extended family members—uncles, aunts, and cousins who had gathered under the guise of celebration—froze in horror on the worn floral sofa. They stared wide-eyed, too paralyzed by the sudden violence to intervene. Iris stood frozen, clutching her bruised arm tightly against her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Laura slowly wiped a streak of blue frosting from her forehead with the back of her hand, her eyes locked onto her daughter with a terrifying, unblinking intensity.
"You think this is a game," Laura whispered, her voice dangerously low. "Your father didn't just run away. He cleaned out our bank accounts, and you helped him pack his bags."
Iris shook her head frantically, fresh tears spilling over her lower lashes.
"I didn't help him! I swear I didn't!" Iris cried out, taking another nervous step backward until her spine hit the hallway wall.
May you like
Laura raised the wooden stick again, pointing it directly at Iris's trembling chest.
"Then explain why his old safety deposit box key was found hidden inside the lining of your school backpack this morning."
