Chapter 4: What Diane Did Before She Packed
Marcus made Nia a second plate.
She didn't ask for it — he just refilled it quietly, slid it in front of her, and sat beside her while she ate.
When she finally leaned back in her chair with the particular satisfied heaviness of a child who had eaten enough for the first time in a long time, he carried her upstairs, ran a bath, and sat on the edge of the tub while she splashed.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah."
"Are you going to cry?"
He looked at the wall.
"I don't know.
Maybe later."
"That's okay," Nia said.
"Ms.
Carter says crying is just feelings that got too big for inside."
"Ms.
Carter is a smart woman."
"She's my favorite." A pause.
"She noticed I was tired sometimes.
She asked me if I was sleeping okay.
I said yes because I didn't know what else to say."
Marcus turned the information over quietly.
"What did she say to that?"
"She said I could always tell her things.
She said everything I said to her was safe." Nia looked down at the bubbles around her knees.
"I didn't tell her either.
I didn't tell anyone.
I just wrote it down."
"I know, baby." He handed her the small yellow towel from the hook by the door.
"I'm going to talk to Ms.
Carter.
Is that okay with you?"
Nia nodded.
"She'll believe you.
She already thought something was wrong."
He got her into pajamas, checked the closet and under the bed the way she'd asked him to every night since she was four, and sat beside her until her breathing slowed and her eyes stopped fighting to stay open.
Then he went downstairs.
Diane was in the kitchen.
She had not packed a bag.
She was sitting at the kitchen island with a glass of red wine and her phone face-up on the counter, and she looked at him when he walked in with an expression that had been arranged very carefully into something reasonable.
"We should talk," she said.
"I told you to pack a bag."
"And I think that was an emotional reaction to a very one-sided account of events." She turned the wine glass slowly.
"Marcus, I know you love her.
I know this looks bad.
But you have to understand — that child has behavioral issues that you refuse to see because you feel guilty about her mother.
Every time I try to establish any kind of structure, she runs to you and—"
"She kept a list for forty-seven days." He stopped on the other side of the island.
"She didn't run to me.
She kept a list."
"A list she knew would get a reaction."
"She's seven, Diane.
She doesn't run strategy."
"You'd be surprised what children that age are capable of when they want something."
His hands went flat on the counter.
"What does she want?"
"To have you to herself.
To get rid of me.
It's textbook."
"She wrote down forty-seven days of missed meals to get rid of you."
"She's smart.
She gets it from you."
He stared at her.
She held his gaze steadily, swirling the wine.
"I called my sister," Diane said.
"She's a family attorney.
She wants to talk to both of us before either of us does anything that can't be undone.
This is a legal situation now, Marcus.
A serious one.
If you put me out of this house tonight, that becomes part of a record.
My sister will make sure of that."
The counter was solid under his hands.
He didn't move.
"She also said," Diane continued, her voice dropping lower, "that an allegation like this — unverified, made by a child — could trigger a welfare inquiry.
Which means Nia gets questioned.
By strangers.
In an official setting." A pause.
"Is that what you want for her?
After everything she's already been through?"
Marcus said nothing.
Diane picked up her wine glass.
"I'm not going anywhere tonight.
And I think, when you've had time to think clearly, you'll agree that's the right call." She stood, gathered her phone, and moved toward the hallway.
"I'll sleep in the guest room.
Give us both some space."
She walked past him without touching him.
He stood at the island for a long time after she was gone.
Then he picked up his own phone.
Opened his contacts.
Scrolled to a name he hadn't called in over a year.
*Raymond — Attorney.*
He pressed call.
It rang twice.
"Marcus?" Raymond's voice was alert despite the hour.
"Everything okay?"
"No," Marcus said.
"I need to know what I can do tonight.
Right now.
Without it being used against me."
A brief silence.
"Tell me what happened."
Marcus looked toward the hallway.
The guest room door was closed.
The light beneath it was still on.
May you like
"It's about my daughter," he said.
"And I think it's been going on longer than I know."
