“That’s impossible. She can’t even reach your dresser.”
Lauren shrugged.
“Children are clever when no one is watching. Maybe she wanted something shiny.”
Margaret stepped closer and accused Emma of being just like me—someone who had entered the family with nothing and now wanted to take what belonged to them. Emma tightened her arms around my neck.
“Never call my daughter a thief again. And never touch her hair.”
Richard warned me to control my tone because I was standing in “their” home, even though my husband and I had purchased the apartment and paid its mortgage. Margaret claimed they were teaching Emma consequences.
“This isn’t discipline. It’s abuse.”
Richard struck me before I could finish. I stumbled against the glass door, and Emma screamed. Margaret and Lauren simply watched. At that moment, my fear disappeared. I carried Emma into the bedroom, packed passports, birth certificates, medication, clothing, financial documents, my laptop, and her stuffed rabbit. She sat silently on the bed, which frightened me more than tears would have.
