Chapter 3

Dad came home a week later from a "dealer conference" in Chicago.

He was all hugs and concern.

"My poor girl, what did she do to you this time?"

He held me while I cried, stroking my hair.

"Don't worry, Maya. I'll sort this. I'll get you an apartment, away from her. You can't live like this."

Hope, a tiny, fragile thing, flickered inside me.

"Dad," I whispered, terrified, "Mom has this video on her phone. Everyone who sees it... they change. They hate me. Please, promise me you' ll never watch it. Promise me."

He looked puzzled. "A video? What kind of video?"

"I don't know, Dad. But it's bad. Please, just promise."

He hugged me tighter. "Of course, sweetie. I promise. I don't need to see any video to know my daughter."

The next morning, I came downstairs for breakfast.

Dad was at the table, reading the paper.

He looked up as I entered, and his eyes... they were different.

The warmth was gone.

Instead, there was a flicker of disgust, quickly hidden, but I saw it.

My stomach dropped.

Later that day, Mom started on me again, something about the way I loaded the dishwasher.

Her voice got louder, her hand raised.

I braced myself.

I looked at Dad, my protector.

He was watching, his face unreadable.

Then he said, his voice cool, "You upset your mother, Maya. Maybe this will teach you."

He turned and walked away as her hand struck my face.

She must have shown him the video.

Or told him what was on it.

My last hope crumbled into dust.