Chapter 5 - The Price of Staying Silent
Sunday morning arrived without the sound of Nia moving around the kitchen.
Andre woke to silence.
Usually, even when she was in a bad mood, his daughter made some kind of noise.
She played music through her phone.
She opened cabinets too loudly.
She talked to herself while looking for clean socks.
That morning, the house felt almost unnaturally tidy.
Monique was arranging flowers on the dining table when Andre came downstairs.
“Good morning,” she said.
He nodded.
“Morning.”
She gestured toward the empty wall.
“I ordered a large wedding portrait for that space. It'll look beautiful when it arrives.”
Andre looked at the wall.
A photograph of his new wedding, hanging where his first family used to be.
He imagined Nia walking through the front door and seeing it.
Then he imagined her face.
“We need to talk about that,” he said.
Monique put down the flowers.
“About what?”
“About the pictures. About Nia. About all of it.”
She sighed.
“Andre, she's sixteen. Teenagers can be dramatic.”
He looked at her.
“My daughter left her own home.”
“She went to her aunt's for one night.”
“Because she doesn't feel welcome here.”
Monique's expression hardened.
“I have done everything I can to make that girl comfortable.”
“Except let her keep photographs of her mother on the wall.”
“That is not a fair description of what's happening.”
Andre didn't answer.
He walked into the garage.
The boxes were still stacked where they had been left the previous morning.
FAMILY — KEEP.
He traced Nia's handwriting on the nearest one.
Then he opened it.
There was the beach photograph.
The graduation picture.
An album filled with ordinary moments he'd almost forgotten.
Nia asleep in the back seat during a road trip.
Simone holding a birthday cake with crooked candles.
All three of them wearing ridiculous matching sweaters on Christmas morning.
Andre sat down on an overturned storage crate.
He hadn't looked at these pictures in months.
Not because he had stopped loving Simone.
Because looking at them reminded him of everything he couldn't fix.
After her death, he had barely known how to speak to Nia about grief.
She cried openly.
He buried himself in work.
She wanted to remember.
He wanted to survive another day without feeling the emptiness.
Monique had entered his life when he was desperately lonely.
She made him laugh again.
For a while, that had seemed like enough.
Then, little by little, Andre had started accepting things he knew made Nia uncomfortable.
Removing one photograph.
Changing one family routine.
Avoiding one difficult conversation.
Each decision had seemed small.
Until he looked around and realized his daughter had nowhere left to grieve except behind a closed bedroom door.
He picked up the blue recipe tin's empty storage sleeve, still lying in the box where it had been packed.
The tin itself was safe with Nia.
He was relieved.
Then ashamed that he was relieved about something he should never have allowed to become a threat.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Tasha.
Nia is okay. She's quiet. She says she's coming back this afternoon to collect the rest of her things.
Andre read the message twice.
The rest of her things.
His daughter wasn't thinking about coming home.
She was thinking about what she needed to take with her.
He called Tasha.
“I want to talk to her.”
“Then give her something different to hear, Andre.”
He swallowed.
“I know.”
“She's not asking you to stop loving Monique.”
“I know that now.”
“Does Monique?”
Andre looked toward the garage door.
“I don't know.”
He ended the call and went back inside.
Monique was checking the guest list for that evening.
Andre stood across from her.
“I'm canceling the housewarming dinner.”
She looked up.
“You can't be serious.”
“I am.”
“People are expecting to come.”
“Then I'll tell them plans changed.”
Monique set down her phone.
“This is exactly what I'm talking about. Every time Nia gets upset, everything revolves around her.”
Andre pulled out a chair.
“No. Everything has revolved around making things easier for us.”
Monique stared at him.
He continued.
“She lost her mother. I let her think remembering Simone was a problem she needed to solve alone.”
“And what about me?”
“I haven't forgotten about you.”
“It certainly feels like it.”
Andre took a breath.
“You aren't competing with Simone. She's dead, Monique. There isn't a marriage there for you to defeat.”
The words landed heavily.
Monique looked away.
Andre's voice softened.
“I love you. But I can't keep asking my daughter to act like she came into this house after you.”
For several moments, Monique said nothing.
Then she walked out of the room.
Andre canceled the dinner and began cleaning the living room.
He found the original picture hooks in a kitchen drawer.
He laid them beside his toolbox.
At three that afternoon, Tasha's car pulled into the driveway.
Nia got out carrying an empty tote bag.
She didn't smile when she saw him through the window.
Andre walked toward the front door.
But before he reached it, Monique came in from the garage carrying one of the boxes labeled FAMILY — KEEP.
She had a roll of packing tape in her hand.
Andre stopped.
“Where are you taking that?”
“To finish dealing with this mess.”
Nia stepped through the doorway just as Monique shifted the box.
The lid opened slightly.
Inside, Nia saw her mother's wedding album.
She froze.
Andre moved directly between Monique and the front door.
His voice was low.
“Put that box down.”
Monique stared at him.
“Andre, don't start this in front of everyone.”
He didn't move.
May you like
For the first time since Simone died, Andre knew exactly what he needed to protect.
And this time, he was not going to stay silent.
