I shrugged again, flipping through the book's pages. Brightly colored step-by-step illustrations showed how to fold increasingly complex paper sculptures. The first one explained how to make a paper crane.
I grabbed a sheet of paper from my desk and followed the instructions carefully, folding each edge with precision. Something inside me warmed as I did.
Daphne’s gift wasn’t thoughtful. If anything, it proved how little she bothered to know about me beyond the most superficial details. She hadn’t tried to learn who I was or what mattered to me. She had probably grabbed the first thing she saw with the words "art and history" stamped on the cover and called it good enough.
But it was something.
And I was desperate for anything at this point.
It was the first time Daphne had shown me even a hint of kindness in years. But it felt foolish to hope that her cruelty had finally run its course. In the same way Cade tried not to believe in her sobriety, I tried not to believe she might ever truly come to care for me.
That kind of thinking, that hope, could be more crushing than the abuse.
But at eleven, it was hard not to get my hopes up. To reach for her, when the void of a mother was so present in my everyday life.
The next afternoon, I sat on an examination table while the doctor adjusted my jaw. He had asked Daphne and Cade to wait in the lobby, which was unusual. Normally, they came into the room with me.
Once the doctor left, a woman I had never seen before entered. She was a beta, with kind eyes and a warm smile. She pulled a chair up to the examination table, sitting across from me.
“Hi, Killian,” she said gently. “My name is Mrs. Maria. I have a few questions for you about your injury, if that’s alright.”
At the mention of my injury, my whole body went rigid. I knew immediately who she was and what she wanted. An investigator trying to decide who was really to blame for my broken jaw.
Over the next half hour, she asked me the same questions the hospital staff had already asked when they admitted me.
Was I safe?
Had someone hurt me?
Did I like Daphne and my father?
What about my brother, Cade?
I fidgeted with the informational pamphlet she had handed me at the start of our conversation, folding it and trying to remember the steps from my origami book as I answered. With each fold, my focus sharpened and my anxiety calmed.
For a moment, I actually considered telling her the truth instead of the lies we had rehearsed over and over. But then I remembered what Daphne had said about trying to turn the tide.
She had been better lately, seemingly nicer, almost motherly, if that was even possible. And my father had been keeping his distance, probably realizing he had gone too far this time.
Maybe things were changing.
I was concerned mostly that if I told the truth, they would separate me from Cade.
He was the only person who truly cared about me.
So I lied.
I’m safe,I wrote in my notebook, sliding it toward her. Her eyes softened with a pity she couldn’t act on without proof.
When my appointment was over, we walked back to the car. Daphne’s demeanor shifted the second her door closed. She turned to me, voice low and sharp. Her eyes narrowed.
“What did you tell them, Killian? What did you tell them about your fall?”
I glanced at Cade, then back at her. I wrotenothingand held the notebook up so she could see.
"Good," she said, turning her back to me and starting the car.
That was when everything clicked into place. The sudden kindness, the gift, the false warmth. It had all been preparation. She knew they’d be asking questions again, probably warned ahead of time. She wanted to make sure I remembered to say the right things.
