Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

The envelope was heavier than it should have been. Alana sat at the kitchen table long after the boys had gone quiet for the night, the paper untouched in front of her, fingertips resting on the seal like it might bite back. Certified mail. Formal. Impersonal.

She already knew. She opened it anyway.

The words swam at first, her eyes refused to focus, but then they sharpened, cold, precise, devastating.

Petition for Permanent Custody.

Filed by Stella Richardson.

Kirk’s sister.

Alana’s breath caught. She read it once. Then again. And again.

Kirk was the stable parent. Concerns regarding the mother’s emotional fitness. Exposure to violence. Best interests of the children.

The room felt smaller with every line. Her hand trembled as she folded the letter back into its envelope, smoothing it carefully, like neatness could undo the damage. Like control still existed.

She stood abruptly, chair legs scraping against the floor.

“I need a shower,” she whispered to no one.

The water would fix it. It always did.

The scream tore through the house without warning.

Allen was on his feet before the sound finished breaking. He didn’t think. He didn’t shout. He ran, bare feet pounded down the hallway, heart slammed hard against his ribs.

“Mom?”

The bathroom door was locked.

Steam poured out from underneath it, the shower was already running full blast.

“Mom!” He rattled the handle. “Answer me!”

Adrian appeared behind him seconds later, eyes sharp, scanned like danger might still be hidden somewhere.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Allen said. “She screamed.”

A long, terrible beat passed.

Then Alana’s voice. Thin. Strained.

“I’m okay.”

Allen pressed his forehead to the door. “You screamed.”

Silence.

The water kept roaring.

“I slipped,” she said finally. “I’m fine. Just, give me a minute.”

Adrian didn’t respond right away. When he did, his voice was careful. “We’re right here.”

Another pause.

“Okay,” Alana said.

But the word didn’t land right.

Inside the shower, Alana stood perfectly still.

The water was too hot. Scalding. She hadn’t noticed when she turned it on. Hadn’t noticed when it burned her skin. She stared straight ahead, arms wrapped tightly around herself, breath shallow.

The letter replayed in her mind, every word echoing louder than the water. Her chest tightened. The spray wasn’t water anymore.

It was Kirk’s voice. Low. Controlled. Certain.

You’re too emotional, Alana. His hand was around her wrist. You confuse them.

The bathroom door slamming years ago. The sound of her own voice breaking as she begged.

I’m their father.

Her knees locked. Her back pressed into the tile as the water poured relentlessly over her shoulder blades, skin turning red, then angry, then raw.

She didn’t feel it, couldn’t move, couldn’t scream again.

Her body had gone somewhere else, somewhere quiet, somewhere numb.

The doorbell rang.

Allen flinched.

“I’ll get it,” Adrian said.

“No,” Allen said. “I will.”

He opened the front door.

Jackie stood there with Brian and Michael beside her, their conversation dying the second they saw Allen’s face.

Jackie’s expression changed in a heartbeat.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Where’s your mom?”

Allen swallowed. “In the shower.”

A distant, muffled sound echoed down the hall. Water was still running. Too long.

Jackie didn’t hesitate. She stepped inside.

Brian opened his mouth to ask something. Jackie cut him off gently. “Couch. Now.”

The boys obeyed.

Jackie moved fast down the hall, knocking once on the bathroom door.

“Al?”

No answer.

She tried the handle. Locked.

“Alana,” she said louder. “Open the door.”

Nothing.

The water kept roaring.

Jackie’s stomach dropped. “Adrian, get me something to pry this open. Now.”

By the time he returned, Jackie didn’t wait. She threw her shoulder into the door once, twice. The lock gave way with a crack. Steam exploded into the hallway.

Alana stood frozen beneath the spray, head bowed, arms wrapped tight around herself, the skin over her left upper shoulder and upper back angry red. She didn’t react.

Jackie lunged forward, yanked the curtain aside, and shut off the water.

“Al,” she said, gripping her shoulders. “Alana. Look at me.”

No response.

Jackie pulled a towel around her.

“She’s in shock,” Jackie said, reaching for her phone. “I’m calling 911.”

She called Dawn, Bonnie, and Frank next. Down the hall, Allen stood frozen, watching as Jackie held his mother together. Something old and ugly had found them again. And this time, it had come in an envelope.