I set the grocery bags on the floor. “Noah. Lily. Coats.”
My mother blinked. “Don’t be dramatic, Claire.”
I looked at my children. “Now.”
They came to me at once. Noah took Lily’s hand. I helped them into their coats while everyone at the table stared as if I had interrupted some sacred ritual.
Vanessa laughed. “Where are you going? To McDonald’s? That’s more your level.”
I grabbed Lily’s backpack and Noah’s inhaler from the side table. As I moved toward the door, my father’s voice followed me.
“You walk out that door, don’t expect help from this family.”
I turned back once. “You have never helped us.”
Then I opened the door and led my children into the cold Ohio afternoon.
In the car, Lily finally broke down crying.
Noah whispered, “Mom, did we do something wrong?”
“No,” I said, gripping the steering wheel. “You did nothing wrong.”
A few minutes later, my phone began ringing.
First my mother called. Then Vanessa. Then my father.
I ignored every call.
Then a voicemail came through from my mother. Her voice was cracked, terrified, and almost unrecognizable.
“Claire, come back. Please. They’re screaming. Everyone is screaming. Something happened…”
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