Chapter 2: The Rules Nobody Told Me
Gabriel read the note three times.
The words didn’t change.
“Remember, if your father asks, tell him you chose the kitchen.””
His fingers tightened around the paper.
For years, he had trusted his parents with Amelia.
When Nora died, Marlene had been the one who told him, “You cannot do everything alone.””
Gabriel had believed her.
He had been exhausted. Grieving. Trying to raise a seven-year-old while keeping his company alive.
His mother had stepped in.
And he had been grateful.
Now he wondered what else he had missed.
“Dad?””
Gabriel looked up.
Amelia stood at the top of the stairs holding Biscuit’s collar.
“You’re still awake?””
She nodded.
“Are you mad?””
The question broke him.
Not because she asked.
Because she looked like she expected the answer to be yes.
“No, sweetheart.””
“But Grandma said you get upset when people don’t listen.””
“I get upset when people hurt you.””
Amelia looked away.
“I didn’t want to make trouble.””
Gabriel walked upstairs and sat beside her.
“You’re never trouble.””
She was quiet.
Then she whispered:
“Can I tell you something?””
“Anything.””
Amelia looked toward the hallway.
“Grandma has rules.””
Gabriel frowned.
“What rules?””
She counted on her fingers.
“I have to finish my homework before I can talk. I have to sit straight during dinner. I can’t ask for seconds unless everyone else has finished. I can’t play piano after six because it bothers Uncle Everett.””
Gabriel blinked.
“Your piano bothers him?””
“Grandma says I need to learn that other people matter.””
The words sounded too mature.
Too rehearsed.
“What happens if you break a rule?””
Amelia’s fingers tightened around Biscuit’s collar.
“She gets disappointed.””
“Does she yell?””
“No.””
That almost made it worse.
“Then what?””
“She says she expected better.””
Gabriel knew that sentence.
Not because Marlene had said it to him.
Because she had said it his entire childhood.
The next morning, Gabriel canceled his meetings.
He sat at the kitchen table with Amelia while she ate pancakes.
Not on the floor.
Not in silence.
At the table.
“How long has Grandma been making these rules?””
Amelia pushed syrup around her plate.
“Since you started traveling more.””
Gabriel froze.
“Why didn’t you tell me?””
She looked confused.
“Because you were busy.””
“I’m never too busy for you.””
“But you always look tired.””
That hurt.
Because it was true.
Later that afternoon, Gabriel confronted his mother.
Marlene was organizing flowers in the living room.
“You wrote this.””
He placed the note on the table.
She looked at it.
Then sighed.
“Oh, Gabriel.””
That reaction made him angrier.
“You knew.””
“I was trying to help.””
“You were teaching my daughter to lie to me.””
“I was teaching her discipline.””
“She’s ten.””
“And she’s becoming spoiled.””
Gabriel stared.
“Explain that.””
Marlene adjusted a flower.
“Ever since Nora died, you’ve tried to replace every difficult moment with affection.””
“That’s called parenting.””
“No. That’s called guilt.””
The word hit harder than he expected.
Marlene continued.
“You feel bad because you work. So Amelia gets everything she wants.””
“She wanted to eat dinner with her family.””
“She wanted attention.””
“She wanted belonging.””
Marlene’s expression hardened.
“She manipulates you.””
Gabriel went silent.
His mother had just accused his daughter of manipulating him.
He looked toward the staircase.
Amelia wasn’t there.
But he lowered his voice anyway.
“Never say that about her again.””
Marlene looked surprised.
“Excuse me?””
“You heard me.””
For the first time in years, Gabriel saw something unfamiliar in his mother’s face.
Not anger.
Fear.
That night, he checked Amelia’s room after she fell asleep.
The moonlight crossed the floor.
On her desk sat a school notebook.
He didn’t want to invade her privacy.
He really didn’t.
But then he noticed something.
A page sticking out.
A drawing.
Gabriel pulled it free.
It was a picture of their family.
Him.
Amelia.
Biscuit.
And Marlene.
But Amelia had drawn herself standing outside the house.
Not inside.
Outside.
On the back of the paper, in a child’s handwriting, were six words.
“I don’t know where I belong.””
Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed.
And for the first time since Nora died, he cried.
But the next morning, he found something that made him stop crying.
Something hidden inside Amelia’s backpack.
May you like
A folded letter.
With his name written across the front.
