Love Is Like Dead Ashes

Frank stormed into my room, clutching an iron rod. "Jessica, did you steal Stephanie's gold bracelet?"

I struggled to sit up. The sight of my hollow cheeks startled him. He stuttered, "Y-You..."

"I didn't steal anything," I said, leaning against the wall. "Look at me. How could I even steal?"

It looked like I had convinced Frank. He turned and left.

Outside, Stephanie's cries grew louder.

She cried out, "So, you don't trust me, Frank? I'm only thirty-five, having a baby for a fifty-year-old. And now you doubt me?

That bitch is dead, and now her daughter's moved in. Do you think I'm some kind of doormat?"

Frank was quick to soothe her. "Stephanie, don't cry. It could harm the baby. I'll buy you two more bracelets, okay?"

Stephanie abruptly stopped crying. "That will cost fifty thousand dollars. Do you even have that kind of money?"

Their voices became muffled, and I couldn't catch what they said next. The following day, my suitcase was gone. Inside were the portraits of my mom and me, everything I had.

I got out of bed and went out to ask, "Dad, where's my suitcase?"

Frank was busy massaging Stephanie's belly with oil.

Without looking up, he muttered, "What suitcase? I don't know what you're talking about.

You're young. Don't just sit around here. Go get a job, and earn some money for your unborn brother's formula."

Stephanie glanced up at me and sneered, "She looks so ugly and dirty. Darling, the child I'm carrying will definitely be better than that bitch's."

Frank kept massaging Stephanie, looking pleased.

They were all smiles and sweet talk, completely ignoring me.

I yelled, "Shut the fuck up, both of you!"

"Frank, where the hell is my suitcase? What did you do with it?" I demanded, staring him down. He seemed startled.

He shot back, "Look at your eyes popping out. What's with the glare?"

"That's my stuff. How dare you take it, you monster!" I yelled.

Frank seemed surprised by my curse. He stood up abruptly, his hand slick with stretch mark oil, and slapped me across the face.

I staggered back, crashing into something that sent sharp pain shooting through my lower back.

"I sold that damn suitcase. It was an eyesore," Frank snapped.

"You had no right to touch my stuff. I'm going to call the cops," I said, struggling to reach my phone.

Frank rushed at me and shoved me to the ground.

"Jessica, listen, I'm still your father. You need to return whatever you stole," he said sternly.

"I didn't steal anything," I insisted.

Stephanie's voice pierced the air. "Oh please, did my gold bracelet just grow legs and walk away? You definitely stole it, you little thief. Your hands are as dirty as your mother's.

She would steal my makeup, trying to look as pretty as me. It's pathetic. She got old, and no makeup could fix that."

Frank wiped his hands as if he'd touched something dirty after pushing me.

Disgust etched on his face, he spat, "No wonder your mom always said you had sticky fingers. Even she couldn't trust you.

Don't ever tell people you're my daughter. It's humiliating."

I gasped for breath. "Liar. My mom never said those things."

Frank grabbed my face roughly. "Jessica, you stole from your own parents in middle school, from your teachers in high school. You've always been a thief. Who else would it be?

Don't tell me I'm falsely accusing you. Your mom told me all this. I wouldn't have known otherwise."

"Mom?" I murmured.

"She wouldn't have told you that!" My voice cracked.

I knew Mom loved Frank more than she loved me, but those secrets were mine alone, shared only with her.

Stephanie seemed amused by the drama.

She scoffed, "Jessica, your mom was pathetic. Cooking for me right up until she died.

By the way, she begged for the job. You don't pass up a free maid. But her death? Really weird. Anyway, she died before she even finished my laundry. That was inconvenient."