Chapter 2: The Woman Who Controlled the House
Russell didn't sleep much that night.
At 1:17 a.m., he was still sitting at the kitchen table with the wooden sign in front of him.
The message on the back seemed even uglier under the yellow light above the stove.
A family should have four people. Not five.
He ran his thumb over the permanent marker.
He thought about Ellie standing beside the table, watching her handprint disappear.
He thought about the way she'd asked whether she belonged.
And he thought about something he'd been avoiding for months.
Dana had never really treated Ellie like a daughter.
She had been polite.
She had been organized.
She had remembered birthdays and occasionally bought Ellie clothes.
But there was always a distinction.
Cole's birthday parties were family celebrations.
Ellie's birthday parties were something Russell was expected to arrange.
Cole's school events were important.
Ellie's school events were inconvenient.
Cole could leave his shoes in the hallway.
Ellie was reminded to put hers away.
Russell had noticed these things.
He had told himself they were ordinary adjustments in a blended family.
He had told himself Dana needed time.
Now, holding the wooden sign, he wondered how many times he had mistaken cruelty for patience.
At 6:40 a.m., he heard footsteps.
Dana entered the kitchen wearing a cream-colored sweater and black leggings. Her hair was neatly tied back.
She stopped when she saw him.
"You're up early.""
Russell pushed the sign toward her.
"Explain this.""
Dana glanced at the message.
For a second, her face changed.
Then she sighed.
"You're making a big deal out of nothing.""
"Did you write this?""
"Yes.""
"Why?""
"Because someone needed to be honest.""
Russell stared at her.
"Honest about what?""
Dana poured coffee into her favorite mug.
"Russell, we just moved into this house. I want it to feel like our home.""
"It is our home.""
"Then why does everything have to revolve around Ellie?""
Russell slowly stood.
"Everything?""
"Every decision. Every decoration. Every conversation. You always have to make sure she feels included.""
"She's ten.""
"And Cole is twelve. He needs his mother, too.""
"Nobody is stopping you from being his mother.""
Dana put the coffee pot down harder than necessary.
"You know what I mean.""
"No, Dana. I really don't.""
She leaned against the counter.
"Look, I love Cole. He's my son. I want him to grow up knowing this is his home. I don't want him constantly competing for attention with a child who isn't even mine.""
Russell's expression hardened.
"Ellie isn't competing with him.""
"She gets everything.""
"She's my daughter.""
"And I'm your wife.""
The words hung between them.
Russell looked down at the sign.
"Being my wife doesn't make my daughter less important.""
Dana crossed her arms.
"You're twisting everything.""
"No. I'm asking why you wrote that our family should have four people when there are five of us.""
Dana picked up her coffee.
"Because that's how I feel.""
She walked out.
Russell remained in the kitchen.
For the first time, he understood that the handprint hadn't been an accident.
It had been a statement.
At 7:30 a.m., Ellie came downstairs wearing jeans and a yellow sweater.
Her hair was tied into two loose braids.
She stopped when she saw the sign on the kitchen table.
"Dad?""
Russell smiled gently.
"Morning, sweetheart.""
"Did you find it?""
"I did.""
Ellie approached the table.
She turned the sign around.
Her eyes moved over the words.
She read them once.
Then again.
Her face changed.
"Does Dana really think that?""
Russell pulled out a chair.
"Come sit with me.""
Ellie didn't move.
"Does she think I'm not supposed to live here?""
"Ellie, listen—"
"Maybe I should stay at Grandma's.""
Russell's stomach tightened.
"No.""
"But she doesn't want me.""
"That doesn't mean you have to leave.""
Ellie stared at the floor.
"Maybe if I wasn't here, you and Dana wouldn't fight.""
Russell knelt in front of her.
"Sweetheart, grown-up problems are never your responsibility to fix.""
"But I made her mad.""
"You made a handprint.""
Ellie looked at her blue-stained fingernails.
"That's all.""
"Exactly.""
He hugged her.
From the doorway, Cole watched them.
He had been standing there for nearly a minute.
When Russell noticed him, Cole shrugged.
"What?""
"Nothing," Russell answered.
Cole walked to the refrigerator.
"Mom says we're going to Grandma's tomorrow.""
Russell frowned.
"Which grandma?""
"Mom's mom.""
"Why?""
"She wants to talk about the new house.""
Russell looked toward the staircase.
"Does she?""
Cole shrugged again.
"She said it's time to make some changes.""
Then he left.
Ellie looked up.
"What changes?""
Russell didn't answer.
He didn't know.
But he was beginning to suspect that Dana had a plan.
That afternoon, Russell took Ellie to a nearby hardware store to buy hooks for the front entrance.
She walked beside him, holding a small packet of screws.
"Dad?""
"Yeah?""
"Can we get a blue hook?""
"Of course.""
"For my backpack.""
Russell smiled.
"Good idea.""
They bought the hooks and returned home shortly before five.
The front door was open.
A cardboard box sat on the porch.
Russell carried the hardware inside.
Ellie followed.
Then she stopped.
The wooden sign was no longer in the utility closet.
Instead, it was lying on the dining room table.
Dana sat beside it with a small bottle of white paint.
Cole was standing behind her.
"What are you doing?"" Russell asked.
Dana didn't look up.
"Improving the sign.""
Russell put down the shopping bag.
"How?""
Dana lifted the brush.
She had painted a thick white rectangle over the blue handprint.
Ellie's handprint.
The other three remained untouched.
Ellie stared at it.
"Why did you cover mine again?""
Dana dipped the brush into the paint.
"Because the first attempt was messy.""
"But Dad fixed it.""
"Your father doesn't understand design.""
Russell stepped toward the table.
"Put the brush down.""
Dana finally looked at him.
"Don't start.""
"Remove the paint.""
"Russell, this is my house, too.""
"And that's my daughter's handprint.""
Dana let out a short laugh.
"You're acting like I destroyed a family heirloom.""
Ellie quietly reached for the sign.
Dana moved it away.
"Don't touch it.""
Russell's voice became sharper.
"She made that handprint. She has every right to touch it.""
Cole leaned against the wall.
"Mom's just trying to make it look good.""
Russell turned toward him.
"Cole, this isn't about you.""
Cole's face reddened.
"Everything is about Ellie!""
"That's enough," Dana said.
She stood up.
"Russell, you need to understand something. Cole and I have spent years building our little family. Then you brought Ellie into it, and suddenly we're expected to change everything.""
Russell stared at her.
"Ellie isn't something I brought into your life. She's my child.""
Dana shook her head.
"You're impossible.""
She put the brush down.
Then she reached beneath the table and pulled out a large white sheet of paper.
It was a printed floor plan of the house.
Russell glanced at it.
"What is that?""
"An idea.""
She unfolded the paper.
A room was marked in red.
The room at the end of the upstairs hallway.
Ellie's bedroom.
Russell looked up.
"Why is her room marked?""
Dana folded her arms.
"Because Cole needs more space.""
"He has a bigger bedroom than Ellie.""
"His room doesn't have enough storage.""
"So?""
Dana tapped the floor plan.
"I thought we could move Ellie into the smaller room near the laundry area. Cole could have her room.""
Russell looked at her for several seconds.
Then he laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
"You're serious.""
"Completely.""
"She's already unpacked half her things.""
"Then we'll move them.""
"Without asking her?""
Dana shrugged.
"She's ten. She doesn't get to make every decision.""
Russell glanced at Ellie.
The girl was standing beside the table, holding her backpack with both hands.
She looked smaller than she had that morning.
"Do you want my room?"" she asked Cole.
Cole hesitated.
Then he looked at his mother.
"Yeah. Mine is too small.""
Ellie nodded.
"Okay.""
Russell turned to her.
"Ellie, you don't have to agree to this.""
She looked down.
"It's fine, Dad.""
But her voice was almost inaudible.
Dana smiled.
"See? She's perfectly reasonable.""
Russell picked up the floor plan.
He folded it carefully.
Then he placed it back on the table.
"Nobody is moving her room.""
Dana's smile disappeared.
"Then we have a bigger problem than a wooden sign.""
Russell looked directly at her.
"Maybe we do.""
That night, Ellie went to bed early.
Russell checked on her at nine.
She was sitting beneath her blanket, holding a small framed photograph.
It showed her mother, who had died several years earlier, standing with Ellie at a summer fair.
Russell sat beside her.
"Missing Mom?""
Ellie nodded.
"She would've liked the blue handprint.""
Russell swallowed.
"She would've loved it.""
Ellie studied the picture.
"Do you think she would've liked Dana?""
Russell didn't know how to answer.
He brushed the blanket over Ellie's shoulder.
"Try to sleep.""
After he left, Ellie placed the photograph on her bedside table.
She turned off the lamp.
But she wasn't asleep when she heard footsteps in the hallway.
The door opened slightly.
A thin line of light crossed the carpet.
Ellie closed her eyes.
Dana entered.
She stood beside the bed for several seconds.
Then she picked up the framed photograph.
Ellie kept her breathing steady.
Dana examined the picture.
"Still keeping this everywhere," she whispered.
She placed it face down on the dresser.
Then she walked to the closet.
She opened it.
A few seconds later, Ellie heard the sound of a zipper.
When the door closed again, Dana was gone.
Ellie waited.
Then she sat up.
Her closet door was open.
Her blue backpack was missing.
So was the little wooden box where she kept her mother's letters.
And on the dresser, beside the photograph, lay a folded piece of paper.
Ellie opened it with trembling fingers.
It was a handwritten list.
At the top were the words:
*THINGS THAT NEED TO CHANGE BEFORE THIS HOUSE FEELS LIKE OURS.*
Underneath were three items.
1. Move Ellie to the small bedroom. 2.
Remove her mother's photographs from common areas. 3. Discuss a permanent arrangement with Russell.
Ellie stared at the final line.
Then she noticed something written beneath the list.
A date.
*MONDAY.*
May you like
Tomorrow was Sunday.
And whatever Dana was planning, she intended to do it before the new week began.
