I don’t answer because I can’t take my eyes off this mess. Without thinking, my hand goes to my pocket, and I silently take several pictures with my cell phone. When I’m finished, I stand there with a death grip on my cell phone. My chest tightens knowing an intruder was here. Someone walked through our apartment, right into her room, and left this ugly message behind to intimidate her.
Rick looks at me, with an expression of stone-cold fury. “I’m calling the cops.”
“Hold off,” I say quietly.
He glares. “Why should I wait? Someone broke into our place.”
“I know,” I say, jerking my chin towards his sister.”
Rick follows my gaze. His anger is quickly replaced by alarm. As we watch, Natalie’s hands come down from her mouth and her knees give way. Rick reaches her first and eases her back to sit on her bed.
She doesn’t look away from the wall. Her eyes look haunted. We might not know what this means but she clearly does. That mess on the wall, I could handle by scrubbing it away or painting over it. Threats to her, I couldn’t deal with so easily.
“They didn’t take anything, did they?” she asks quietly.
“No. They weren’t here looking for valuables.” After a brief pause, I ask, “Do you want to tell us what this is all about?”
Rick takes his hands off her shoulders and drops to one knee in front of her, forcing her to meet his gaze. “We can’t help you unless we understand what’s going on.”
Natalie swallows hard. “It’s my foster father. And the church. They want me to come back. They want me to take care of the children again.”
My eyes drift back to the wall, to the blood-red words.
Rick’s voice sharpens with disbelief. “Are you serious? Is this supposed to be a threat? Why would they threaten to kill the very thing they rely on? That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”
It clicks then, cold and ugly. “They’re not talking about death,” I say quietly. “That wall isn’t about killing anyone. It’s about punishment. Obedience. Suffering that’s justified.”
Rick drags both hands through his hair and starts pacing. “Shit! This isn’t just messed up—it’s fucked. Who uses God to blackmail someone into coming back for free childcare?”
Natalie folds her hands in front of her, her fingers twisting together like she’s holding herself upright by sheer will. “They’re not threatening to hurt the kids in ways that leave marks,” she says. “Not the kind you can see. But Bear’s right. They believe suffering is righteous. That breaking a child is how you save them.”
Rick stops pacing. “What the actual fuck.”
She finally looks up at us, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “They want me terrified for those kids. They want me to feel responsible. Like it’ll be my fault if I don’t go.”
My jaw tightens. “This is what you ran from?”
She hesitates. Just long enough to confirm it with a small nod. “Yes, they once told me that I was the best helper they ever had.” Glancing away, she lowers her voice. “They’ve been texting me pretty much continuously since I left. Guilt tripping me, calling me selfish and that the kids are crying for me.”
Rick lets out a harsh laugh that holds no humor. “You never told us any of that.”
“I didn’t want to bother you with my problems,” she says. “You’ve been nice to take me in.”
I crouch in front of her, lowering myself the same way Rick did earlier. “Okay. Slow down. Explain this to me like I’m five. I need to understand the whole dynamic.”
Her eyes slide past me, unfocused. “My foster parents were part of a family that believed in… using everything God gave them. Including children. They always had side hustles, things that looked charitable on the surface.”
She swallows. “They used to parade the younger kids out at church and community events. Not literally on a stage—but close enough. They’d quote scripture, talk aboutsavingus, about sacrifice and obedience. Sometimes they’d have the kids recite verses or write them out for cards and flyers. People would buy them because it made them feel holy. Like they were doing something good. Helping the poor little orphans…”
My stomach twists.
“To everyone else it looked like kindness,” she continues. “Like this generous family taking in unwanted kids. But to them we were income. A check from the state and free labor.”
Rick’s jaw tightens.
“If we didn’t do what they wanted, the punishments came. Never anything that would leave marks. They were too smart for that.” Her voice goes flat. “It was isolation, extra chores, being locked in a bedroom for hours with nothing but a Bible. Making kids sit at the table and watch everyone else eat dessert. Telling them God was disappointed. Telling them they were ungrateful and broken. Easy to give back and replace with someone more deserving.”
Rick’s face goes red. “Assholes.”
