Chapter 1 - The Dinner She Wasn't Allowed to Eat
The sound of the slap cut through the dining room before five-year-old Nia Brooks understood what had happened.
Her head jerked sideways. The plate in her hands tilted, sending several grains of rice across the polished wooden floor.
“Didn't I tell you to leave my son's food alone?”
Patrice stood over her, breathing hard. Her perfectly manicured fingers gripped the edge of the plate.
Nia pressed one small hand against her cheek.
“I was hungry,” she whispered.
“What did you say?”
“I didn't have dinner.”
Patrice snatched the plate away.
“Then you should have thought about that before touching something that doesn't belong to you.”
Nia's lower lip trembled.
It was nearly eight o'clock on a Thursday evening in suburban Atlanta. The kitchen smelled of roasted chicken, buttered vegetables, and fresh cornbread. A large pot of rice sat beside the stove.
There was plenty of food.
That was what made the little girl's hunger so difficult to understand.
“That's Isaiah's dinner,” Patrice continued. “You don't get to take things just because you want them.”
“But Isaiah said—”
“I don't care what Isaiah said!”
Nia stepped backward until her shoulders touched the dining room wall.
For eighteen months, she had lived with Patrice, the woman her father had married after her parents separated.
Nia's mother had moved out of state for work and maintained regular phone contact, but Daniel was her primary caregiver. His job supervising overnight maintenance crews often kept him away during dinner.
He believed his daughter was being fed, bathed, and put to bed by someone he trusted.
He was wrong.
The front door opened.
Daniel entered carrying his lunch bag and work jacket. He had come home early because a scheduled equipment repair had been canceled.
He stopped when he saw Nia crying against the wall.
“What's going on?”
Nia turned.
“Daddy!”
She ran toward him so quickly that she almost stumbled.
Daniel dropped his bag and caught her.
“Hey, sweetheart. What's wrong?”
She buried her face in his shirt.
“I'm sorry, Daddy. I was just hungry.”
Daniel's expression changed.
He gently moved her hand away from her cheek.
Five red finger marks stood out against her skin.
“Who did this?”
Nia's eyes shifted toward Patrice.
Daniel looked up.
“Patrice?”
His wife folded her arms.
“Your daughter was stealing Isaiah's dinner. I've told you she needs discipline.”
“Discipline?”
“She keeps taking things that aren't hers.”
Daniel stared at the plate in Patrice's hands.
“You hit my five-year-old daughter over food?”
Patrice rolled her eyes.
“Oh, please. It was one little slap. You're always making excuses for her.”
A voice came from the hallway.
“That's not what happened.”
Eleven-year-old Isaiah stood near the stairs, still wearing his school sweatshirt.
Patrice stiffened.
“Isaiah. Go upstairs.”
“No.”
Daniel had never heard the boy speak to his mother that way.
Isaiah looked terrified, but he remained where he was.
“Nia didn't steal my dinner. I already ate. I told her she could have what I left.”
Patrice's face hardened.
“That's enough.”
Isaiah took another step forward.
“And Mom told her she couldn't eat anything tonight.”
Silence filled the room.
Daniel looked at his wife.
“Is that true?”
“She was being punished.”
“For what?”
“For being disrespectful.”
Daniel's voice became dangerously quiet.
“What did a five-year-old do that deserved having dinner taken away?”
Patrice threw her free hand into the air.
“I'm tired of being questioned in my own house!”
She stepped toward him.
“And I'm tired of you treating that girl like she's some little princess!”
Daniel moved Nia behind him.
“You don't get to put your hands on my child.”
Patrice scoffed.
“And what are you going to do about it?”
Daniel slapped her.
The sharp sound made both children flinch.
Patrice staggered backward, one hand rising to her face.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Daniel stared at his own hand.
He had acted out of fury, and the frightened look on Isaiah's face told him immediately that he had made the room more dangerous, not less.
Patrice whispered, “You hit me.”
Daniel did not defend what he had done.
Nia tugged on his sleeve.
“Daddy?”
He crouched.
“Yes, baby?”
She glanced nervously toward Patrice.
“She locks the food cabinet sometimes.”
Daniel blinked.
“What cabinet?”
“The one with all the snacks. She says they're not for me.”
Isaiah walked past his mother into the kitchen.
He pulled open the tall pantry door.
Inside were shelves packed with cereal boxes, crackers, canned soup, pasta, juice, and snacks.
A small combination latch had been fastened to the outside of the pantry door.
Isaiah pointed toward it.
“Mom puts that on whenever you leave.”
Daniel slowly approached.
He had bought almost everything on those shelves.
He had never noticed the latch.
“Why didn't you tell me?” he asked.
Isaiah swallowed.
“Because she said you'd be mad at us.”
Daniel looked at his daughter.
Nia stood beside the dining room table, still holding her cheek.
Isaiah's voice began to shake.
“But Dad…”
May you like
He looked toward the hallway behind the kitchen.
“The food isn't the worst thing she does when you're gone.”
