Chapter 2 - The Drawing Was From School
Heather recognized the paper.
It came from Brielle’s art class.
A month earlier, the teacher had assigned:
Draw what “home” feels like to you.
Most students drew bedrooms.
Pets.
Backyards.
Dinner tables.
Brielle drew exclusion.
Heather sat down slowly on the kitchen floor, still holding the picture.
Toby was being checked by a neighbor who had heard the crash and come in through the open back door.
Heather barely noticed.
Her eyes remained on the drawing.
Inside the house were only two people.
Mom.
Toby.
Brielle had drawn herself outside in rain.
There was no lock on the door.
That detail somehow hurt more.
The door was simply closed.
As if Brielle believed nobody inside had even noticed she was gone.
Heather looked at her daughter.
“How long have you had this?”
Brielle shrugged.
Her cheek was still red from the slap.
Heather’s voice broke.
“Brielle.”
“Why do you care?”
The answer landed harder than anger would have.
Heather opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Then Brielle said:
“You only care because I hurt Toby.”
That was the first crack in the story Heather had been telling herself for years.
She thought Brielle was independent.
Mature.
Old enough to understand.
What Brielle heard was:
May you like
Less important.
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