PART 2
Chapter 5 — Three Different Stories
Mrs. Ruiz took me to her house that afternoon.
She didn’t ask whether I wanted to go.
She just said, “Get your shoes, honey. You’re coming next door until your dad gets home.”
I put on my sneakers.
Then I went upstairs to change out of Dad’s sweatshirt.
Mrs. Ruiz saw me folding it carefully.
“You can bring that.”
I nodded and carried it with me.
Her house smelled like coffee and laundry detergent.
She made me grilled cheese and tomato soup.
I’d eaten lunch already, but she insisted I could have more if I wanted.
I sat at her kitchen table while she called Grandma.
For the first few minutes, I listened to them talk about me as if I weren’t there.
“She’s here.”
“Yes, she’s safe.”
“No, she wasn’t hurt.”
Then Mrs. Ruiz looked over.
“Your grandmother wants to speak to you.”
I took the phone.
“Hi, Grandma.”
“Oh, Molly.”
Her voice shook.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Andrea said your knee was too bad.”
“My knee?”
“She said you needed to rest.”
Grandma made a sound I couldn’t quite understand.
“Honey, my knee is bad. But that doesn’t mean you can’t call me.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
I looked at the bowl of soup in front of me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you apologize. Not for a second.”
Then Grandma started crying.
That scared me more than anything else.
I’d never heard her cry like that.
Dad was five hours away.
Mrs. Ruiz told me he had already left the cabin.
Andrea was coming back with him.
That surprised me.
Part of me had expected Dad to tell her to stay there.
Another part of me wished he would.
I didn’t know what would happen when they got home.
Around four, Dad called again.
Mrs. Ruiz was watering her houseplants, so I answered.
“Hey, Peanut.”
“Hi.”
“You doing okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Mrs. Ruiz feeding you?”
I looked at the plate of cookies she’d put beside me.
“A lot.”
Dad gave a small laugh.
Then he went quiet.
“Molly, I need you to know something.”
“Okay.”
“I didn’t know you were home alone.”
“I know.”
“No. I need you to really hear me. I would never have agreed to that.”
I pressed my lips together.
“Okay.”
“And I’m sorry I didn’t check with Grandma myself.”
I didn’t understand why he was apologizing.
He’d believed Andrea.
So had I.
“Are you mad at her?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to get divorced?”
The question came out before I could stop it.
Dad didn’t answer right away.
“We’re going to talk about that later. Right now I just want to get home to you.”
I looked down.
“Okay.”
“Molly?”
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t cause this.”
I wanted to believe him.
But Dad had sounded happy when he left Saturday.
Now he sounded like he might cry.
And I couldn’t stop thinking that if I’d just made it three more days, none of this would have happened.
Dad arrived a little after eight.
I heard his truck pull into our driveway.
Then a car door slammed.
Mrs. Ruiz opened her front door before he even knocked.
Dad came inside so quickly he nearly tripped over the welcome mat.
He was still wearing the blue jacket he’d had on Saturday.
“Molly.”
I stood up.
He crossed the room and pulled me into his arms.
He hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe.
I didn’t complain.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
I wrapped my arms around his waist.
“It’s okay.”
“No.”
He pulled back just enough to look at me.
“It’s not okay.”
His eyes were red.
He checked my face, my hands, my arms, as though he expected to find something wrong.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
I nodded.
“Did you get sick? Fall? Anything?”
“No.”
He let out a shaky breath.
Then he hugged me again.
For the first time since Saturday, I felt safe enough to stop pretending I was fine.
I started crying into his jacket.
Dad held me until I was ready to let go.
Andrea was waiting in the car.
I saw her through Mrs. Ruiz’s front window.
She was sitting in the passenger seat, looking down at her phone.
She didn’t come inside.
Dad thanked Mrs. Ruiz and asked whether I wanted to spend the night at her house.
I shook my head.
“I want my bed.”
“Okay.”
We walked next door together.
Dad kept one hand on my shoulder.
Inside, everything looked exactly as I’d left it.
My schedule was still taped to the refrigerator.
The envelope with the remaining money sat on the counter.
My flashlight was beside the couch.
Dad looked around the kitchen.
He picked up my schedule.
He read it.
I watched his face change.
Then he noticed the last line.
He didn’t say anything.
He just took the paper off the refrigerator and folded it.
Andrea came inside a moment later.
“Molly,” she said carefully.
I looked at her.
“I hope you’re okay.”
I nodded.
She glanced at Dad.
“Nathan, can we please talk privately?”
Dad turned toward me.
“Sweetheart, would you mind going upstairs? I’ll be right here.”
I went to my room.
But the house wasn’t big.
And when Andrea started talking, I could hear almost every word.
Chapter 6 — I Wanted One Vacation Without Her
“I didn’t abandon her, Nathan.”
That was the first thing Andrea said.
I was sitting on my bed with the door half closed.
Dad’s voice came from downstairs.
“Then what would you call it?”
“I left her with food, money, a phone, and emergency numbers.”
“You left a twelve-year-old alone for four days.”
“She was supposed to be fine for the week.”
There was a long silence.
Then Dad said, very quietly, “The week?”
Andrea didn’t answer.
“You planned to leave her here for seven days?”
“She’s mature for her age.”
“She’s twelve.”
“I know how old she is.”
“Then why did you do it?”
Andrea’s voice rose.
“Because I wanted one vacation where it was just us.”
I stared at my bedroom door.
She continued.
“One week, Nathan. That’s all I wanted. One week where we could be married without every single decision revolving around Molly.”
Dad said something I couldn’t hear.
Andrea interrupted him.
“No. You need to listen to me for once.”
Then came the words I’d heard in different ways for years.
“Every time I ask for time together, you say your daughter comes first.”
“Because she’s my daughter.”
“And I’m your wife!”
The house went quiet.
I held my breath.
Andrea spoke again, more softly.
“I’ve spent three years trying to make this work. Every weekend, every holiday, every vacation, we plan around her.”
“Andrea—”
“We canceled our anniversary dinner last year because she had that school thing.”
“It was her first orchestra concert.”
“And we couldn’t miss it. We can never miss anything. But the things I want? Those can always wait.”
Dad didn’t respond immediately.
I could hear the refrigerator running downstairs.
Then he said, “If you were unhappy, we could have talked about it.”
“We did talk about it.”
“Then we could have gotten counseling. We could have found someone to stay with Molly. We could have shortened the trip.”
“You would have canceled it.”
“Maybe. If we couldn’t arrange safe care for her, yes.”
Andrea let out a bitter laugh.
“Exactly.”
Dad’s voice sharpened.
“That doesn’t make what you did acceptable.”
“I knew she could handle it.”
“How?”
“She knows how to make food. She can lock a door. She’s not helpless.”
“What if she got sick?”
“She had a phone.”
“What if she fell down the stairs? What if someone tried to get into the house? What if she needed help and couldn’t reach us?”
“You’re making up disasters that didn’t happen.”
Dad went silent.
When he spoke again, his voice was colder than I’d ever heard it.
“There was a storm Monday night.”
Andrea said nothing.
“The power went out. Molly was scared.”
“She texted me.”
“You knew she was sitting here alone in the dark?”
“I told her where the flashlight was.”
“And you didn’t call her?”
A pause.
“I texted her.”
“You told her not to wake me.”
I sat very still.
Dad must have seen the messages.
Andrea tried again.
“Nathan, I was handling it.”
“No. You were hiding it.”
“I didn’t want the trip ruined.”
“You lied to my mother.”
“I didn’t—”
“You told her Molly was coming with us. You told me Mom had picked her up. Then you told Molly I had agreed to leave her here.”
Andrea didn’t deny it.
Dad said, “You made sure none of us knew what was happening.”
“I just wanted a chance for us to be happy.”
Something inside me sank.
I’d heard her say it before, but never so plainly.
It wasn’t that Grandma was sick.
It wasn’t that the plans had changed.
Andrea had wanted a vacation without me.
And she had been willing to leave me alone for a week to get it.
Dad spoke again.
“You’re right about one thing.”
Andrea didn’t answer.
“I haven’t done a good job listening when you told me you needed more time together.”
I looked toward the door.
That wasn’t what I expected him to say.
“I’ve been busy,” Dad continued. “I’ve let you handle too much at home. I’ve assumed things were taken care of because you told me they were.”
“Then you understand—”
“No.”
His voice was firm.
“I understand that our marriage had problems. I understand I made mistakes.”
He paused.
“But you don’t get to punish my daughter for them.”
Andrea began crying.
I could hear it.
Part of me wanted to go downstairs and tell them to stop.
I didn’t want Dad to be angry.
I didn’t want Andrea to cry.
I didn’t want our house to feel like this.
But I stayed on my bed.
After a while, Dad said, “I need you to stay somewhere else tonight.”
“Nathan.”
“Molly needs to feel safe in her own home.”
“You’re choosing her over me?”
The question made my stomach hurt.
Dad answered without raising his voice.
“I’m choosing to protect my child. I should never have had to choose that.”
Andrea didn’t say anything.
A few minutes later, the front door closed.
Then a car started outside.
I looked through my bedroom window.
Andrea was leaving with an overnight bag.
She didn’t look up.
Dad came upstairs about ten minutes later.
He knocked on my door.
“Can I come in?”
I nodded.
He sat beside me on the bed.
For a while, neither of us said anything.
Then he held out my schedule.
“I found this downstairs.”
I looked at the paper.
He pointed to the last line.
“Why did you write that?”
I shrugged.
“Andrea said you needed a break.”
“A break?”
“From working. And everything.”
Dad looked down at the paper again.
“Molly, I always want you to call me if you need something.”
“I know.”
“Even if I’m on vacation.”
“Okay.”
“Even if I’m sleeping.”
I nodded.
He set the schedule aside.
Then he asked gently, “Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me you were home alone when I texted you Sunday?”
I twisted the corner of my blanket.
“Because Andrea said you knew.”
“But when you got scared Monday night, why didn’t you call?”
I stared at my hands.
He waited.
I could hear the clock in the hallway.
Finally, I whispered, “Because I didn’t want you to come home.”
Dad frowned.
“Why would you think I’d be upset about coming home for you?”
My throat tightened.
I hadn’t meant to tell him.
Not that night.
Maybe not ever.
But he was looking at me like he genuinely didn’t know.
And I realized there was something my father had never understood about the three years since he married Andrea.
“I thought if I could be good enough,” I whispered, “you wouldn’t have to choose between me and her.”
Dad stopped moving.
“What?”
I looked at him.
“I know she doesn’t want me here all the time.”
His face changed.
“Who told you that?”
“Nobody had to.”
