Chapter 2 - THE PERFECT HOUSE
Grant Mercer believed appearances were everything.
Our house looked like proof.
White walls.
Fresh flowers.
Expensive furniture nobody was allowed to sit on.
Family photographs arranged by color.
Not memory.
Color.
If Sophie looked tired in a picture, Grant deleted it.
If I wasn’t smiling, he made us retake it.
If Mom’s eyes looked swollen from crying, Grant blamed the lighting.
To strangers, we were perfect.
Inside the house, everything depended on Grant’s mood.
After William asked about my phone, Grant leaned back in his chair.
“Emma has behavioral issues.”
I laughed.
It came out sharper than I intended.
“Behavioral issues?”
Mom whispered, “Please stop.”
Grant pointed at me.
“See?”
William studied me.
“What happens to your phone?”
I hesitated.
This was Grant’s world.
His company.
His boss.
His dinner.
His rules.
I had spent two years learning what happened when I told the truth.
Grant smiled.
“She loses privileges when she’s disrespectful.”
William looked at my ankle.
“Is that what happened tonight?”
I looked down.
The swelling had become ugly.
Purple already showed beneath my sock.
“It was an accident,” Mom said quickly.
Grant nodded.
“She slipped.”
Sophie whispered, “No, she didn’t.”
My mother closed her eyes.
Grant’s chair scraped against the floor.
“Sophie.”
The little girl flinched.
William noticed.
Everyone noticed.
He turned toward Grant.
“Sit down.”
Grant stared at him.
“I think you should leave.”
William’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
Grant realized what he had said.
“I mean, the dinner is clearly ruined.”
William looked around the table.
“Yes.”
Then he closed the promotion folder.
Grant’s face collapsed.
“But not for the reason you think.”
William stood.
The other executives followed.
Grant rushed toward him.
“William, come on. You know me.”
William looked at him.
“I’m beginning to wonder if I do.”
Grant lowered his voice.
“You’re going to throw away fifteen years because of a teenage tantrum?”
“No.”
William glanced toward Sophie.
“I’m reconsidering fifteen years because an eight-year-old is afraid of you.”
Grant’s nostrils flared.
Then William looked at me.
“Do you need medical attention?”
“No.”
My ankle screamed when I shifted weight.
William looked unconvinced.
My mother stepped forward.
“I’ll take care of her.”
Something cold passed across William’s expression.
“I’m sure you will.”
The guests began leaving.
Grant stood in the foyer smiling through clenched teeth and shaking hands.
“Sorry about the misunderstanding.”
“Kids.”
“Stress.”
“Family stuff.”
When the front door finally closed behind the last guest, silence filled the house.
Grant locked the deadbolt.
Then he turned.
The smile was gone.
My mother whispered, “Grant.”
He ignored her.
His eyes landed on Sophie.
Then me.
“You two just destroyed my life.”
I stepped in front of Sophie.
“You hid her medicine.”
“I was protecting this family!”
“From what? Asthma?”
His face twisted.
“You think you’re funny?”
“No.”
He moved toward me.
Mom grabbed his arm.
“Grant, stop.”
He shook her off.
Hard.
She hit the wall.
Sophie screamed.
Grant froze.
For one second, even he looked surprised.
Then the doorbell rang.
All four of us turned.
Grant’s breathing became heavy.
He looked through the peephole.
His face changed.
“Who is it?” Mom asked.
Grant didn’t answer.
The bell rang again.
Then came William’s voice from outside.
“Grant.”
A pause.
“I forgot something.”
Grant stared at the door.
May you like
William spoke again.
“And I don’t mean my coat.”
