Chapter 5 - Blood and Water
By Wednesday afternoon, the cracks in Janet’s campaign began to widen from an unexpected direction.
Amber came home from high school, threw her backpack onto the entryway bench, and marched straight into the kitchen where I was helping June with her second-grade spelling words.
“Mom,” Amber said. She had called me ‘Mom’ intermittently over the last four years, usually reserving it for quiet moments, but today she said it with deliberate, ringing clarity. “Can I show you something?”
I looked at June, who was diligently tracing the letters of b-e-c-a-u-s-e on lined paper. “Take a five-minute break, Bug. Go see if the dog needs water.”
Once June skipped out to the utility room, Amber unlocked her phone and shoved it into my hands.
“Look at the texts Grandma has been sending me since Monday,” she said, her chest heaving with indignation.
I scrolled through the thread. My heart turned cold.
Janet (Monday, 4:12 PM): “Amber darling, don't let your father’s new wife manipulate you. You and Mason are the true heirs of the Miller family. She is using that little girl to divert your father’s college savings away from you. You need to remind your dad who was there first.”
Janet (Tuesday, 8:30 AM): “Remember that your mother would never have allowed you to be pushed aside for a stranger’s child. I have some jewelry of your mother’s set aside for you. Come visit me after school without telling them.”
Janet (Wednesday, 11:15 AM): “If you stand by that woman and her child, you are betraying your real family, Amber. Choose wisely.”
I felt the heat rising in my throat. Janet wasn't just cruel; she was calculating. She was attempting to weaponize Greg’s deceased first wife—a woman who had passed away from cancer when Amber was eight—to turn a fifteen-year-old girl against her own household.
“Did you reply?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.
“Yeah,” Amber said. Her chin tilted up, stubborn and fierce in the exact way Greg looked when his back was against the wall. “I told her that my mom would have slapped her across the face for being mean to a seven-year-old. Then I blocked her number.”
Before I could pull Amber into an embrace, Mason walked into the kitchen, holding his baseball glove. He dropped the glove on the counter with a heavy thud.
“She called the coach,” Mason muttered, his pre-teen face dark with embarrassment.
I spun around. “What?”
“Grandma called Coach Harris,” Mason said, kicking at the cabinet toe-kick. “She told him she was sponsoring our team jackets this fall, but only if Dad wasn't allowed in the dugout and only if June wasn't allowed on the field after games. She told Coach Harris that June was ‘disruptive to the family dynamic.’”
The audacity took the air out of the room. Janet was willing to poison a twelve-year-old boy’s Little League season just to reassert her dominance over our household.
“What did Coach Harris say?” I asked, my blood running hot.
Mason cracked a small, crooked smile. “Coach told her that his own daughter was adopted from foster care, and if she ever called his phone again, he was banning her from the entire county sports complex. Then he told me I’m starting at shortstop on Saturday.”
Amber let out a sudden, bark of laughter, and Mason joined in.
I looked at these two kids—kids I had bandaged, driven to orthodontist appointments, consoled after failed tests, and loved with every fiber of my being for six years. They were not my flesh. They did not carry my DNA. But the fierce, protective wall they had formed around their little sister had nothing to do with genetics.
June wandered back into the kitchen, a half-eaten apple in her hand. She looked between Amber and Mason, sensing the tail end of an adult conversation.
“Are you guys talking about Grandma?” she asked quietly.
Amber walked over, bent down, and unclasped a silver charm bracelet from her own wrist—the one with the tiny treble clef and the silver heart she had worn since eighth-grade graduation. She wrapped it twice around June’s wrist, latching it securely.
“Grandma doesn't get to vote in this family anymore, Junie,” Amber said firmly. “We outvoted her three to one.”
May you like
Mason reached over and ruffled June’s hair until it stood on end. “Four to one, squirt. Now finish your spelling so we can go hit grounders in the backyard.”
June looked down at the silver heart resting against her skin. For the first time since Saturday afternoon, the fragile, frightened look vanished from her eyes, replaced by the bright, stubborn grin that belonged to her.
