Chapter 1 - The Noodles
While my dad was away, my stepmother fed me instant noodles while she and her daughter ate roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, buttered corn, and the strawberry cake I had told Dad was my favorite.
I was seven years old.
Old enough to know when a person hated me.
Young enough to still wonder if I had done something to deserve it.
"Eat your noodles, Ethan," Amanda said.
She did not look at me.
She sat at the head of the table in Dad's chair, cutting chicken into neat pieces for her daughter, Lily. Lily was six. She had soft brown curls, big eyes, and the kind of heart that did not understand cruelty yet.
She looked from her plate to mine. Then back again.
"Mom," she asked, "why doesn't Ethan get chicken?"
Amanda's smile disappeared.
"He has food."
"But we have a lot."
"Lily."
"It's his favorite too."
Amanda's knife scraped the plate.
"Eat your lunch."
I lowered my head.
The steam from the noodles made my eyes burn, but I told myself it was not tears. I had learned not to cry at the table. Crying made Amanda angry. Asking questions made her angrier. Telling Dad made everything worse when he left again.
So I twirled the plain noodles around my fork and pretended my stomach was not hurting.
Dad had been gone for eight days on a construction job in another state. Before he left, he hugged me tight in the driveway.
"I'll be back soon, buddy."
I wanted to ask him not to go. But Amanda stood on the porch watching us. So I nodded.
Then Dad slipped something small and black into my jacket pocket. It looked like a toy car remote.
"Keep this with you," he whispered. "Do not tell Amanda. If anything feels wrong, press the side button twice."
"What is it?"
"Something to help me listen when I can't be here."
I did not understand. But I trusted Dad.
Now that little black device sat heavy in my pocket while Amanda ate my favorite meal in front of me.
Lily picked up a piece of chicken. She looked at her mother. Amanda was pouring herself iced tea. Quickly, Lily slid out of her chair and came around the table. She placed the chicken beside my noodles.
"Here, Ethan," she whispered.
My throat tightened. "Thank you."
Amanda's fork slammed down.
"Lily!"
Lily jumped so hard her plate rattled.
"I told you not to give him your food."
"But he's hungry."
"He has noodles."
"They're plain."
"They are enough."
Lily's eyes filled.
"Daddy always gives us the same food."
Amanda stood so fast her chair scraped the floor.
"Your father isn't here."
The whole kitchen went cold.
She reached into my bowl, snatched the chicken out, and threw it back onto Lily's plate. Sauce splattered across the table. Then she pointed at me.
"You need to understand something," she said. "He is not your real brother."
Lily started crying.
"Yes, he is!"
"No. He is your father's child from another woman. That does not make him yours."
I stared at my noodles. I wanted to disappear into the chair.
Lily shook her head. "He is my brother."
Amanda grabbed her arm.
"Go to your room."
"No!"
"Lily."
"No! You're being mean!"
Amanda's face changed. It became the face she used when Dad was gone. The face with no softness in it. She tightened her hand around Lily's arm. Lily cried out and pulled away. Then she ran toward the hallway. At the doorway, she stopped. She looked back at me. Her small face was wet with tears.
"I'm sorry, Ethan," she whispered.
May you like
Then she was gone.
I sat alone at the table with my plain noodles and the sound of Amanda's fork scraping her plate. She did not speak to me for the rest of the meal. I ate what I could and did not ask for more.
