Chapter 3

The high fever had all but burned every last drop of blood from the woman's body.

I took care of my mother the way my father used to.

I got a few fever pills into her, but her temperature only climbed higher instead of dropping.

In the middle of my panic, someone came pounding at the door.

My father stooped in, and without meaning to, a glimmer of hope crept into my eyes.

The moment I ran to him, I caught the heavy stench of alcohol on him.

His gaze settled darkly on my mother, and I panicked instantly.

Everyone in the Gilbert family knew that my father liked to bully people when he was drunk.

I forced down my fear and stood in front of him. "My mom is sick, she has a fever. You can't bully her!"

Before I could finish, my father shut me out in the living room, and no matter how I pounded on it he wouldn't open it.

The woman's sobs drifted out, and I kept watch in the living room all night without closing my eyes.

Not until the next morning did the door creak open.

The man had sobered up, and with practiced ease he fed my mother her fever medicine.

Three seconds later, my mother asked in a hoarse voice why.

My father smiled, his hands not stopping:

"Bella, you know I mistreat people when I'm drunk."

"Fern is so young. I just couldn't quite bring myself to it."

My mom didn't cry, but I burst into tears.

The man walked out the door and gently gathered me into his arms:

"Philippa, don't cry. I scared you yesterday. How about Daddy makes it up to you with a wish card?"

The man looked around the shabby rental apartment, his eyes landing on a rented bridesmaid dress.

A flicker of doubt crossed his face, but before he could ask, my mother explained softly:

"The bridal boutique downstairs sprang a leak, so I'm holding it here for a couple of days."

"A night shift at a bar goes for five thousand a night, and you put me through so much yesterday, so I want eight thousand."

"Once you settle up, you can go."

My father only gave a low laugh:

"Enough, Bella Henson. I've seen enough of this playing-hard-to-get act. Aren't you tired of the game yet?"

"The girl just wants a wedding, it's not a real marriage. What is there for you to be angry about?"

A shrill phone ring cut in, and Fern Swanson's voice came through:

"Honey, my period started and my stomach hurts so much. Could you have Bella make me a cup of hot honey water?"

"Of all the hot honey water I've ever had, only hers ever works!"

The words had barely landed, and before my father could speak, my mom turned and walked into the kitchen.

Brown sugar, ginger slices, simmered slow over low heat.

Even the cup was the nicest one we owned.

She bent down and handed it to my father:

"Mr. Gilbert is rich and generous. Spending three hundred on a cup of hot honey water for his girlfriend isn't too much, is it?"

The veins bulged at my father's temple, his eyes locked hard on my mom:

"Is measuring feelings in money the only thing you know how to do?"

The woman's voice carried a coldness:

"What is there to measure between the two of us, besides money?"

The cold chime of ten thousand dollars over the payment app rang out in the cramped rental apartment.

The man slammed the door shut with a bang.

The moment he turned to leave, my mother's nose began to bleed, drops of blood falling one by one to the floor.

The woman collapsed onto the sofa as if all her strength were gone, gently stroking my head.

"Why are you crying, little one? Once Mommy becomes a star up in the sky, it won't hurt anymore."