Chapter 2
I don't remember how I got out the door.
One minute I was on the floor.
The next I was running.
Blood still dripping down my face.
Gravy still crusted on my hands.
No coat.
No phone.
No keys.
Just me and the cold November air stinging my cheeks.
I ran until my lungs burned.
Until my legs couldn't carry me anymore.
I collapsed on a park bench three blocks from my parents' house, gasping for air, and finally let myself cry.
Not quiet tears.
Great, heaving sobs that shook my entire body.
Thirty-two years.
Thirty-two years of trying to be good enough.
Trying to be the daughter they wanted.
Cooking their meals.
Cleaning their house.
Driving my mother to doctor's appointments.
Bailing Travis out of trouble.
Again.
And again.
And again.
And for what?
To be hit.
To be called dramatic.
To be erased.
A woman walking her dog stopped and asked if I was okay.
I must have looked terrifying.
Blood on my face.
Thanksgiving sweater covered in dirt.
Eyes puffy and red.
I couldn't speak.
I just shook my head.
She hesitated, then pulled out her phone.
"Should I call someone?"
I found my voice then.
Rough and broken.
"Please. An ambulance. And the police."
She didn't ask questions.
She just dialed.
The ambulance arrived first.
The paramedic's face softened when he saw me.
"What happened?" he asked gently.
"My brother," I whispered. "He hit me."
He helped me onto the stretcher.
The police arrived as they were loading me in.
Two officers.
One man, one woman.
The woman knelt beside me.
"I'm Officer Marquez," she said. "Can you tell me what happened?"
I told her.
Everything.
The house.
The question.
The knee.
The phone.
My father staring straight ahead.
She took notes.
Her pen moving quickly across the page.
"Do you want to press charges?" she asked when I finished.
I didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
The hospital was a blur.
X-rays.
CT scan.
Nurses with gentle hands and sympathetic eyes.
My nose was broken.
Two black eyes would bloom by morning.
The doctor said I was lucky.
No concussion.
No permanent damage beyond the nose.
Lucky.
That word echoed in my head.
Lucky that my brother only broke my nose.
Lucky that my mother only called me dramatic.
Lucky that my father only ignored me.
I didn't feel lucky.
I felt hollow.
A nurse named Sarah brought me a cup of tea and a blanket.
"Is there someone we can call for you?" she asked.
I thought about it.
My parents were out of the question.
Travis was the reason I was here.
I had no siblings besides him.
No aunts or uncles who would take my side.
My friends...
I'd pushed most of them away over the years, always too busy helping my family to maintain relationships.
But there was one person.
Maya.
My college roommate.
We hadn't spoken in three years.
Not since I'd bailed on her wedding to help my mother through a "crisis" that turned out to be nothing more than a bad haircut.
But Maya was the only person who had ever really seen what my family was doing to me.
The only one who had ever said, "Claire, they're using you."
I'd been angry at her then.
Defensive.
Told her she didn't understand.
Now I knew she'd been right all along.
"Can I borrow a phone?" I asked Sarah.
She handed me hers.
My hands shook as I dialed Maya's number.
I didn't know if she'd answer.
Didn't know if she'd even recognize my voice.
It rang three times.
"Hello?"
Her voice was exactly the same.
Warm.
Strong.
"Maya," I said, and my voice broke. "It's Claire."
A pause.
"Claire? Oh my god, where are you? What's wrong?"
"I'm in the hospital," I whispered. "I need help."
"I'm on my way," she said.
No questions.
No hesitation.
Just "I'm on my way."
She arrived forty minutes later.
Her hair was longer than I remembered.
She was wearing pajama pants and an old sweatshirt, like she'd thrown on the first thing she found.
When she saw me, her hand flew to her mouth.
"Oh, Claire," she breathed.
She crossed the room and pulled me into a hug.
Gentle.
Careful of my face.
And for the first time in years, I felt safe.
Not the fake safety of my parents' house, where I always had to watch what I said and how I acted.
Real safety.
The kind that comes from someone who actually cares.
"I'm so sorry," I sobbed into her shoulder. "For everything. For the wedding. For disappearing. For being so stupid."
"Shh," she said, rubbing my back. "None of that matters now. You're here. You're safe. And I'm not going anywhere."
She stayed with me until the doctors released me.
Drove me back to her place.
Made up the guest room with fresh sheets and extra blankets.
Left water and painkillers on the nightstand.
"Get some rest," she said. "We'll figure everything out tomorrow."
I lay in the dark, listening to the hum of her refrigerator, the distant sound of traffic.
My face throbbed.
My heart ached.
But something had shifted inside me.
That night on my parents' living room floor, something in me had broken.
But something else had been born.
I closed my eyes.
May you like
And for the first time in my life, I didn't wonder what my family would think of me tomorrow.
I wondered what I would do to them.
