Chapter 1 - The Latch Was on Our Side
The moment my mother took the ice pack out of Ryan's hand, my brother stopped smiling.
It was small.
Barely a change.
But I saw it.
Mom saw it too.
Ellie stood behind me with both hands buried inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt. She was twelve, but right then she looked six. Her eyes were fixed on the blue gel pack Mom had placed on the kitchen counter.
Ryan leaned against the doorway.
"Everybody needs to calm down," he said. "She got upset. She locked herself in. Kayla walked in halfway through and decided I'm some kind of monster."
I pointed toward the hall.
"The latch is outside the bathroom."
"Dad installed it."
That made Dad look up.
He had come through the front door thirty seconds after Mom, still wearing his transit-maintenance uniform.
"What latch?"
Ryan answered too quickly.
"The one you put on because Ellie kept locking herself in when she had meltdowns."
Dad frowned.
Then I saw recognition hit him.
He had installed it.
Not today.
Months ago.
Because Ryan had asked.
Ellie pressed closer to my shoulder.
Dad looked sick.
"I thought it was to keep the door open," he said.
Ryan laughed.
"It is. She's confused."
Ellie whispered, "He closes it from outside."
Nobody moved.
Ryan rolled his eyes.
"Of course she says that now."
I looked at Mom.
"Can you take Ellie upstairs?"
Ellie grabbed my sleeve.
"No."
Her voice was barely there.
"Stay here."
So I stayed.
Mom crouched beside her.
"Honey, did Ryan hurt you?"
Ellie looked at him.
Ryan did not speak.
He only stared back.
It was not an angry stare.
That would have been easier.
It was patient.
Like he was waiting for her to remember the correct answer.
Ellie's eyes dropped.
Then she nodded.
Mom covered her mouth.
Dad took one step toward Ryan.
I blocked him.
"Not now."
Ryan's face changed.
"Seriously? You're protecting me from Dad now?"
"I'm protecting Ellie from everyone turning this into a fight she has to watch."
He laughed again.
"You always loved drama, Kayla."
Behind me, Ellie whispered, "Freezer."
I turned.
"What?"
She pointed at the blue ice pack.
"That's not the only one."
Ryan pushed away from the doorway.
"Enough."
I stepped between him and the kitchen.
Mom opened the freezer.
Frozen vegetables.
Chicken breasts.
Two pizza boxes.
Then she moved a bag of peas.
Behind it were six gel packs stacked flat.
Each one had a strip of masking tape across the front.
Mom took out the first.
STAIRS - LEFT ARM.
The next.
BIKE - KNEE.
The next.
DOOR - SHOULDER.
SOCCER - RIBS.
BATHROOM - WRIST.
The last one made Ellie's breathing change.
It said:
ROAD - BLUE SHIRT - DON'T SAY BIKE.
Dad read it twice.
"What does this mean?"
Ryan moved toward the counter.
"They're jokes."
Ellie grabbed my hand hard enough to hurt.
"No."
Her voice shook.
"They're the stories I'm supposed to tell."
Mom looked at Ryan.
"Stories about what?"
Ellie started crying.
"About where the bruises came from."
Ryan's face went blank.
And for the first time that night, he stopped trying to explain.
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