Chapter 2: Drawing the Line in Blood

Thinking about it, I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. My hands shook—anger and regret tangled up inside me—but underneath it all, something new took root. Not this time.

This time, I didn’t hesitate. “Get out!”

“What did you say?”

She stared at me, wide-eyed, like I’d started speaking another language. Her jaw dropped, phone still clutched in her hand. For once, she was speechless.

“I said,” I made sure to hit every word, “your brother can go to hell.”

Miranda’s shock melted into fury:

“What’s wrong with you? What about the promises you made when we got married? You said you’d treat my family as your own!”

“And have you treated Autumn as family?”

I shot to my feet, glare locked on her. My voice echoed through the apartment, shaking with anger—and maybe fear, or the last thread of hope snapping.

“Last week, when your brother came over, why did Autumn cry?”

Just then, I heard footsteps—soft, quick taps—and a pair of pink fuzzy slippers appeared at the edge of my vision. The sight of those slippers, so innocent and small, made my chest ache. God, I wanted to protect her from all of this.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Daddy!”

My blood ran cold. Every instinct screamed at me to shield her, to get her out of this mess.

Four-year-old Autumn ran to me, clutching her battered teddy bear. Her cheeks were blotchy, her hair a tangled mess, but her eyes—those big, trusting eyes—were all that mattered.

“Autumn...” I dropped to my knees, hands shaking as I reached for the pulse in her neck. I needed to feel her heartbeat. I needed to know she was really here, alive.

Warm. Beating. Not the cold, lifeless body from the morgue. I almost sobbed with relief. Thank God.

“Daddy, you’re hurting me...”

She whimpered softly, her breath hot against the back of my hand. My tears hit the hardwood floor. I let go right away, guilt and gratitude crashing over me like a wave.

Miranda yanked our daughter aside, impatience written all over her face:

“Evan, what is wrong with you? Hurry up and transfer the money—my brother’s waiting for the deposit!”

Autumn stumbled, bumping into the shoe cabinet, her teddy bear rolling into the corner. She blinked back tears, her bottom lip trembling, but she didn’t cry out. She just hugged herself tighter.

She pouted, about to cry, but when she met my red-rimmed eyes, she forced herself to hold it in. She was braver than any child should ever have to be.

Her tiny hand tugged at my sleeve, trying to make me smile:

“Daddy, don’t be mad. Autumn doesn’t hurt.”

She’d said the same thing before. The memory hit me like a punch to the gut. I’d heard those words in hospital rooms, in the backseat of the car, late at night when she thought I was asleep. It never got easier.

During chemo, when the needle went in, when the bone marrow match failed, even those nights when we couldn’t afford painkillers. She never complained. Never asked for more than a hug. My brave, brave girl.

Thinking of this, I scooped her up and looked at Miranda with nothing but ice. I cradled Autumn close, her heartbeat steady against my chest. For the first time, I saw Miranda for what she really was.

Her brother once asked me for money for his wedding. When I refused, she threatened divorce. She’d made it clear: her brother came first, always.

She always said, “My brother is the Miller family’s only hope. Without him, I’d have starved long ago.”

Miranda used that logic to twist me, to get me to help her brother again and again. She spun guilt into gold, and I let her. Not anymore.

But she forgot her own words—how, back in middle school, when she had a 104-degree fever, her brother stole her lunch money to play video games. She had to tough it out alone. Even then, he let her suffer, but she still worshipped him.

She’d told me that on her parents’ deathbeds, they made her swear she’d always take care of her brother. I used to think that was touching—now I saw it for the chain it really was.

That was fine—when we had money, I didn’t mind helping. I wanted to be generous, to do right by family. But there had to be a line.

But what I couldn’t forgive was how little they cared about my daughter’s life. Blood or not, no one gets to put my kid second. No one.

In this life, I wouldn’t let their brother-sister bond decide my fate. I’d draw the line, even if it meant standing alone. I meant it.

My eyes were cold. My hands shook, but my voice didn’t waver.

“Get out!”

This time, I was ready to be the bad guy if that’s what it took. And for the first time in years, I felt steady—like I’d finally found solid ground after drifting for so long.

I knew Miranda wouldn’t give up easy. She was stubborn, relentless, always convinced the world owed her something.