Then she broke.
Between quiet sobs, the story came out.
Her mom worked double shifts at a diner, trying to keep the lights on. Money was tight. Real tight. Rent had gone up to $1,200 a month, and they were already behind. Stress filled their small apartment like thick smoke.
Her mom had a boyfriend.
When he first moved in, he brought groceries and paid a couple of bills. Things seemed easier.
Then the yelling started.
Then the holes in the wall.
Then the nights Emily pretended to be asleep while plates shattered in the kitchen.
He had never hit her.
But he had grabbed her arm once. Hard enough to leave fingerprints.
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