Chapter 2: Bread and Bruises

After lunch, Grandma was washing dishes in the little kitchen.

The kitchen always smelled like soap and onions, the windows fogged up from the steam, and the clatter of dishes echoing in the small space. She hummed while she worked, her back bent, hands moving slow and steady.

Lily, Grandma's already struggling. Because of you, she never eats enough—she's hungry all the time. Can you really bear to keep dragging her down?

She crouched beside me, her voice low and urgent. I could see the worry lines on her forehead, the way her eyes darted to make sure Grandma couldn't hear. Her words burrowed into me, heavy as stones.

I remembered how every time Grandma finished cooking, she'd serve me a full plate first, only eating what was left.

It was always the same—she'd set my plate down with a smile, then scrape whatever was left onto her own. Sometimes, her portion was barely more than scraps. I never thought much of it until now. The memory hit me like a wave.

All this time, I thought I was the reason Grandma never ate enough.

The weight of it pressed down on my little chest. I stared at my shoes, feeling suddenly much older than five.

"Grandma, I want to go with Mom and Dad," I tugged at her sleeve.

My voice was small, trembling. I didn't want to leave, but I didn't want Grandma to go hungry either. My hands shook as I clung to her skirt. I felt torn in two.

"You don't want to stay with Grandma?" She bent down and stroked my head.

Her fingers were cool and gentle, brushing my hair back. She searched my face for the truth, her own eyes shining with sadness. I couldn't look her in the eye.

"I want to go to town. The houses there don't leak when it rains, and Mom and Dad said I'd have my own room." Looking at Grandma's bony hand, I bit my lip.

That was what Mom told me to say.

Well, the country can't compare to living in town. Go ahead—it'll be easier for you to get to school, too.

She patted my head, her voice soft but resigned. She tried to smile, but I saw the corners of her mouth tremble. She pressed a peppermint into my hand as if it would make the leaving sweeter.

When we left, Grandma stood at the crossroads, watching us go.

She didn't wave. Not once. She just stood there, one hand shading her eyes, her silhouette growing smaller as we drove away. The sun was setting, painting her in gold and shadow. I pressed my face to the window, trying to memorize her shape.

I looked back. Her figure grew smaller and smaller, until she was just a tiny black dot.

The road wound through cornfields and past weathered barns, the kind of drive that feels endless when your heart is heavy. I watched until I couldn't see her anymore, and even then, I kept looking.

As soon as we got home, my dad parked his old pickup at the curb and ran straight to the neighbor's house.

He barely turned off the ignition before jumping out, calling over his shoulder, "Don't touch anything!" The neighbor's house was close, and his voice carried. I trailed after Mom, unsure what was happening.

"Oh, my precious boy! Haven't seen you for half a day—Daddy missed you so much!"

His voice was syrupy sweet, so different from how he spoke to me. I peeked through the screen door and saw him scoop up Jamie, grinning ear to ear.

A moment later, he came out carrying a chubby little boy.

Jamie was all dimples and giggles, wrapped up in a bright red jacket that made him look like a Christmas ornament. Dad bounced him in his arms, beaming. He was adorable. Too adorable.

Mom hurried over too, reaching out to hold him, but Dad dodged her.

"Back off, I haven't had enough cuddles yet."

He spun Jamie around, making airplane noises. Mom laughed, but there was an edge to it, like she was trying not to show she was annoyed.

That was the first time I met my real brother, Jamie.

He looked nothing like me—fair-skinned, round-eyed, his cheeks so plump they practically begged to be pinched. I stood off to the side, not sure where to put my hands.

I reached out, then pulled my hand back, afraid Dad would snap at me. Jamie just stared, then stuck his tongue out and giggled. I almost smiled.

As soon as we stepped inside, Mom pulled me over, her expression serious.

The house smelled like fried onions and Pine-Sol. Mom knelt down, her face inches from mine. Her eyes were hard, no-nonsense.

"Starting tomorrow, I'll be going to work. Your job is to take care of your brother—feed him, give him water, play with him, got it?"

She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, like every five-year-old was expected to be a live-in babysitter. I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. I guess that's just how things were.

"Okay." I nodded.

I wanted to do a good job, to prove I could be useful. Maybe if I did, they'd like me more. Maybe they'd smile at me the way they smiled at Jamie.

Inside, I was kind of excited. My brother looked so cute and well-behaved—taking care of him would be fun.

I imagined us playing with blocks, building forts out of couch cushions. I didn't know it would be nothing like that.

Dad added, "Don't let your brother get hurt. If anything happens to him, you'll be sorry!"

His voice was low and threatening. I nodded again, heart pounding, not daring to ask what "sorry" meant.

At dinner, Mom made a pan of scrambled eggs. The smell was mouthwatering.

It filled the whole house, buttery and warm. My stomach rumbled so loud I thought everyone could hear.

I swallowed hard.

My mouth watered as Mom set the food on the table. I tried not to stare, but I couldn't help it.

Mom scooped a small bowl of rice, dumped all the scrambled eggs in, and mixed them together.

She stirred it until the eggs disappeared into the rice, the yellow streaks fading. I watched every move, hoping she'd give me a taste.

"From now on, you need to learn how to feed your brother." She handed me the bowl and spoon.

Her voice was matter-of-fact, like she was passing down a family recipe. She set the bowl in front of me, not meeting my eyes.

"Okay."

I took it, scooped up some egg rice, and was about to feed my brother.

My hands shook a little, but I was determined to do it right. Just one bite. No one would notice. Jamie opened his mouth, then turned away, giggling.

Dad smacked me on the head. "Trying to burn your brother's mouth?"

The slap was sudden, sharp. My eyes blurred with tears, more from shock than pain. I'd never been hit before. Not until now.

It was the first time I'd ever been hit. Tears welled up in my eyes.

The sting lingered, but what hurt more was the humiliation. I bit my lip, trying not to cry. I could feel Mom watching, but she didn't say a word.

"Cry again and you won't get dinner!" Dad threatened.

His words were cold, final. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, forcing myself to stop. I bit down on my lip, hard.

I wiped my tears quickly, blew on the spoonful of rice, and fed it to my brother.

Jamie made a face, squirming away. I tried again, blowing harder this time. He finally took a bite, then spit it out, laughing.

He wouldn't sit still—waving his hands, giggling, refusing to eat properly.

Bits of rice landed on the floor. On his shirt. Everywhere but his mouth. I kept scooping, kept trying, determined not to mess up again.

I kept feeding him.

I counted each spoonful like a tiny victory. My own stomach ached, but I focused on Jamie, hoping they'd notice how hard I was trying.

By the time Mom and Dad finished eating, my brother's small bowl was still barely touched.

I didn't dare say a word.

They scraped their plates, got up, and disappeared into the back room. The table was quiet except for Jamie's babbling.

They went into the back room, leaving just me and my brother in the main room.

The house was suddenly too big, the ticking clock too loud. Jamie played with his food, oblivious to everything.

I hadn't eaten a bite, and my stomach was growling.

I pressed my hands to my belly, trying to quiet the noise. The leftover egg rice looked so good, I could barely stand it.

Looking at my clueless little brother and the tempting egg rice, I couldn't resist. I took a bold bite.

Just one bite. No one would notice.

It was warm, salty, perfect. For a second, I forgot everything else. Then Jamie's face scrunched up, and I knew I was in trouble.

"Waaah!" My brother started crying.

His wails echoed through the house. I froze. Spoon halfway to my mouth.

Mom and Dad rushed out.

Their footsteps thundered down the hall. Mom scooped Jamie up, bouncing him, shushing him. Dad's eyes landed on me, hard as stone.

"Baby boy, what's wrong?"

Mom kissed Jamie's forehead, fussing over him. Dad hovered, arms crossed, his face stormy.

"Come here, let me hold you!"

Jamie reached for Dad, still sniffling. They acted like I wasn't even there.

They fussed over Jamie, ignoring me.

I stood by the table, hands behind my back, wishing I could disappear. My mouth was still full of rice, and I didn't dare swallow.

Just then, Jamie pointed his chubby finger right at me.

He jabbed the air, his voice high and accusing.

"Eat! Eat!" he mumbled.

His words were clear enough. He pointed at my face, then at the bowl, then back at Mom and Dad.

Only then did Mom and Dad look at me, spotting the rice stuck to my mouth.

Mom's eyes narrowed. Dad's face went red, veins bulging at his temples. I tried to wipe my mouth, but it was too late.

Dad's face twisted in anger. He kicked me hard.

The blow caught me off guard, knocking the air from my lungs. I crashed into the wall, then slid to the floor, stunned.

At five, I was skinny and small. His kick sent me flying into the wall, then sliding down to the floor.

The pain was sharp, blooming across my chest and side. I curled up, too afraid to cry. I tried to be silent.

Pain shot through my chest. I lay there, too weak to move.

The world spun around me. I heard Jamie giggling, Mom scolding, but it all sounded far away.

"Stupid girl, you dare steal your brother's food? Know your place!" Dad roared.

His words rang in my ears, hot and mean. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear.

Still not satisfied, he grabbed me and tossed me outside like trash.

The door slammed behind me, the night air biting. I landed hard on the porch, scraping my knees.

"You can't come in tonight! Maybe that'll teach you a lesson! See if you dare do it again!" He slammed the door shut.

His voice echoed through the wood. I pounded on the door, but no one answered. The porch boards were cold, splinters digging into my skin.

I lay in the yard all night—cold, hungry, hurting—until I lost consciousness.

The stars wheeled overhead, the moon rising and falling. I huddled against the steps, shivering, until everything went black.

At dawn, Mom dragged me up, worried when I didn't wake up right away.

Her hands were rough, shaking me hard. I could barely open my eyes, my whole body aching.

She panicked, just like on TV, and dumped a ladle of cold water on my face.

The shock jolted me awake. I gasped, sputtering, water running down my neck. Mom hovered, her face twisted with worry and annoyance.

After a while, I finally opened my eyes.

The world swam into focus. Mom sighed, shoulders slumping in relief.

Mom sighed in relief, then scolded me with a cold face: "You were wrong to steal your brother's food. Your dad was right to hit and punish you. From now on, you can't touch anything that belongs to your brother, understand?"

Her words were icy, no room for argument. I nodded, too tired to fight. What was the point?

Weak and dazed, I nodded on instinct.

My voice barely came out, but she seemed satisfied with that.

"Say it out loud—do you understand?" she pressed.

She leaned in, waiting. I forced the words out, my lips numb.

Only when I said, "I understand," did she stop.

She finally let go of my arm, standing up straight. I could see the relief in her eyes, quickly hidden.

She handed me a cold slice of bread. "Hungry? Eat up. Don't let your dad see."

The bread was stale, but I didn't care. I wolfed it down, crumbs sticking to my lips.

I was so hungry my legs were shaking. I grabbed the bread and devoured it.

My hands trembled, but I didn't stop until every last bite was gone. Mom watched, arms crossed.

"See, Mom's good to you, right?"

Her tone was almost smug, as if the bread erased everything else. I nodded, not meeting her eyes. I didn't believe her.

"Yeah," I mumbled through a mouthful of bread.

I forced a smile, hoping she'd leave me alone.

"So, will you listen to Mom from now on?"

She waited, tapping her foot. I nodded again, too tired to argue.

"I will."

My voice was barely above a whisper, but she seemed satisfied.

"As long as you take good care of your brother, Mom won't let you go hungry."

Her words sounded like a promise, but I knew better than to believe them.

After the bread, I looked at Mom and spoke up.

My hands twisted in my lap. I took a deep breath, then spoke up, voice small.

Mom, can you send me back to Grandma's? I'll eat less so Grandma can eat enough.

I looked down, afraid to see her reaction. I meant every word—I missed Grandma so much it hurt.

Being with Grandma—even if I was hungry—was better than being beaten.

The thought of her warm kitchen, her gentle hands, made me ache inside. I wondered if she missed me too.

Mom's face turned cold again. "Grandma's too old to work anymore. Do you know where her groceries come from?"

She raised her eyebrows, daring me to answer. I shook my head, not sure what she was getting at.

I shook my head.

I barely remembered what groceries even were. All I knew was Grandma always had something for me, even when there wasn't much.

"Your dad and I send them to her," Mom said. "If you go back, your dad will get mad and stop sending food. You want Grandma to starve to death?"

Her words hit me like a punch. The idea of Grandma going hungry because of me was unbearable. I shook my head, tears burning my eyes.

I was scared stiff and never dared mention leaving again.

The message was clear: stay put, keep quiet, and don't cause trouble. I swallowed my tears and nodded. I learned my lesson.