Chapter 6: Lines in the Sand

I opened my eyes in a daze, staring at the white ceiling, my mind blank, unable to remember anything.

Someone nearby was yelling, cursing nonstop.

There were crashing sounds too.

A lot of people. I tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness stopped me. I blinked, trying to focus.

A wailing cry exploded in my ear, and someone crashed into me, hugging me and sobbing.

Tears stung my face, and I was confused. I looked around, searching for Mom and Dad. Their faces swam into view, worried and tired.

“Addie… why are you looking at me like that?” He laughed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Don’t scare me like that again, okay?"

He darted into the hallway, yelling for Mom and Dad to come quick. The room filled with footsteps and voices.

The hospital room instantly went quiet.

While I was confused, my parents ran over, trembling, crouching by my bed and holding my hand.

“Addie…” Mom spoke first. “I was wrong—this is on me. I shouldn’t have let that old bat stay and hurt you!”

Then Dad: “Dad will send her back to the farm, never let her near you again. Addie, say something, don’t scare Dad!”

Were they talking to me? I blinked, trying to process their words. Everything felt distant, like I was underwater.

The memories came back in flashes—peas, garlic, Mrs. Phelps, the hospital.

I remembered everything—the fear, the pain, the relief of seeing my family again.

The tears came in a flood, years of hurt pouring out all at once. Mom held me, rocking me gently.

I remembered her face, kind and scared, as she called 911. I owed her my life.

She whispered soothing words, her hands never leaving mine. Dad stroked my hair, his eyes red.

He led her in, her face pale and drawn. She looked at me, guilt flickering in her eyes.

His voice was flat, giving her no room to argue.

She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. No one moved to help her.

Her words echoed in the sterile room, but no one flinched.

Grandpa suddenly appeared at the door.

This travel-worn, crooked-collared old man quietly pulled Mason aside.

“Adults’ business, kids stay out of it.” He winked at me, his eyes twinkling. "Let the grown-ups handle this one, Addie."

“Right, Mason, don’t interfere, let Grandma handle it!” Grandpa’s voice was gentle, but firm. Mason stepped back, watching from the doorway.

She squared her shoulders, ready to fight. I’d never seen her look so fierce.

She pointed a finger at Grandma, her voice sharp. "No more excuses."

Before she finished, Mom kicked off her slipper and pounced, pinning Grandma and yelling.

She didn’t stop, swearing up a storm.

Grandma must’ve taught Mom to swear—out of twenty words, sixteen had four letters.

Loud and sharp-tongued. The nurses peeked in, then quickly left, realizing this was a family matter.

The noise was overwhelming, but somehow comforting. It meant I wasn’t alone.

Grandma tried to wriggle free, but Mom held her tight, refusing to let go until she’d said her piece.

He handed me a slice, his eyes kind. "Eat, Addie. You need your strength."

Grandpa said gently, “Let her vent, or I’ll be the one suffering at home.”

He winked, making me giggle. The tension eased, just a little.

I took a bite, a bit nervous about Dad’s reaction.

After all, the one being yelled at was his mother.

“Drink some water, your throat might be dry after waking up. Wait for Dad.” Grandpa handed me a glass, his hands steady. I sipped, feeling better already.

His eyes never left mine, full of love and worry.

When he returned, he set a cup of warm cocoa before me.

“It’s not hot, Dad cooled it. Try it.” I took a sip, the warmth spreading through me. For the first time in days, I felt safe.

Their voices faded into the background as I focused on the cocoa, letting the fear drain away.

They stood firm, refusing to budge. Grandma cried, begged, but nothing worked.

He told her, "If you don’t go, I’ll stop sending money. That’s it."