Chapter 6 - The Checklist and the Hidden Ledger
The silence that fell over that hallway was heavier than a tomb.
The word hung in the air, toxic and suffocating.
*Hit.*
I felt the blood drain from my face, replaced by a cold, vibrating fury unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life. I looked down at Abby, whose lip was quivering, and then slowly shifted my gaze to Nell.
Nell wouldn't look at me. She pulled her sleeves down over her hands, curling into a tight ball against the floorboards, trying to make herself invisible.
"Give me that, Abby," April hissed, her face contorting with sudden panic. She lunged forward to snatch the paper from her daughter’s hand.
"Don't you touch her!" I snarled, stepping directly between April and the children.
I grabbed the yellow sheet of paper from Abby’s hand.
My hands shook as I held it up to the hallway light. It was written in April’s neat, flowing handwriting. Across the top, underlined twice in red pen, were the words:
**NELL'S THURSDAY DUTIES (MUST BE DONE BEFORE BED):**
1. *Pick up living room & sweep kitchen.*
2. *Wipe down bathroom counters & scrub toilet.*
3. *Start load of whites (use bleach).*
4. *Cook mac & cheese / nuggets for Henry & Max (cut into small pieces).*
5. *Bathe Max & Henry. Put clean pajamas on both.*
6. *Fold yesterday’s laundry and put in my closet.*
7. *Put all three kids in bed by 8:00 PM SHARP.*
8. *Wash dinner dishes & dry them.*
9. *DO NOT TOUCH MY BEDROOM DOOR.*
10. *IF THE HOUSE IS A MESS WHEN I GET HOME, NO PHONE FOR A WEEK.*
At the bottom of the page, scrawled in angry red ink, was a handwritten note:
*“You owe me for the trouble you caused with the neighbor. Don’t be lazy.”*
My eyes burned as I read the words.
The bleach on Nell’s clothes. The cracked, bleeding knuckles from scouring bathrooms and doing dishes in scalding water. The missed homework assignments.
April hadn't just been stepping out for a quick dinner. She had systematically turned my twelve-year-old daughter into an unpaid, live-in housekeeper and nanny so she could live her single, carefree life.
"Nell," I whispered, my voice breaking. I dropped to my knees beside my daughter. I gently reached down and pushed up the long sleeve of her sweater.
There, just above her elbow, was a dark, purplish bruise in the distinct shape of four fingers and a thumb. A grip mark.
"When did she do this?" I asked, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces.
Nell began to sob, the dam finally breaking. "Last... last week," she choked out. "When I asked if I could just do my math homework before putting the laundry away. She grabbed my arm and shook me. She said if I told you, she’d tell you that I was failing school and stealing from her purse, and you’d send me away to boarding school because you couldn't afford me."
"You lying little bitch!" April shrieked, lunging forward with her hand raised.
I didn't think. I reacted.
As April moved toward Nell, I shot up from the floor, grabbed April by the lapels of her leather jacket, and slammed her backward against the opposite hallway wall with every ounce of strength I had.
The picture frames along the wall rattled. April’s head hit the drywall with a dull thud, and the wind was knocked out of her lungs.
"Touch her again," I snarled, my face inches from hers, my voice deadly and cold, "and you won't survive to see the police get here."
April’s eyes bugged out in terror. For all her cruelty, she was an absolute coward when confronted with real force. She held her hands up, trembling, the alcohol-fueled confidence draining out of her instantly.
"Jasmine, wait... you don't understand," April stammered, her voice high and desperate. "It was an accident! I was stressed! Colin hasn't paid child support in three months, and I had to see this guy—he was going to help me with the rent!"
"I gave you money!" I screamed in her face. "I gave you four hundred dollars this month! I bought your groceries! I worked night shifts while my daughter was being abused in this house!"
"Four hundred dollars is nothing!" April shrieked back, tears of ugly self-pity spilling down her cheeks. "Do you know how hard it is to raise three kids alone? You have one! Just one! You have an easy job, you have benefits, and you think you can just drop her off here and let me carry the weight?!"
"You didn't carry anything," I spat, releasing her jacket with a shove of pure disgust. "Nell carried you. Nell raised your children. And you treated her like an animal."
I turned my back on her and walked into the living room.
On the kitchen counter, next to an open bottle of wine, was April’s designer purse—a brand-new Michael Kors bag that I knew cost at least three hundred dollars. Sitting beside it were two concert ticket stubs from the previous weekend.
April hadn't been working catering gigs. She hadn't been struggling to find odd jobs.
She had been partying on my dime, living off the child support Colin actually *was* sending, while using Nell as a hostage to keep the money coming.
"Pack your things, Nell," I said, walking back into the bedroom. My voice was calm now—a terrifying, icy calm that made even April shrink back. "Abby, Henry, put your shoes on. Max is coming with us."
April gasped. "You can't take my kids! That’s kidnapping!"
I pulled my hospital phone from my pocket and dialed 911, pressing the speaker button.
"Dispatcher 402, what is your emergency?" a calm operator's voice crackled into the room.
I looked April dead in the eye.
May you like
"Yes," I said clearly. "My name is Jasmine Taylor. I am currently at 742 Maplewood Drive. I need police and an ambulance immediately. I am reporting severe child neglect and physical abuse against a minor."
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