Chapter 1 - The Friday She Couldn't Miss
The email arrived at 2:17 on a Monday afternoon.
*Hi, Nina. I wanted to let you know Addie fell asleep during her science quiz today. This is the fourth Monday we've noticed her struggling to stay awake. Could we schedule a quick conversation?*
I read it twice.
Four Mondays. Four weekends at her father’s house. And four different explanations from my twelve-year-old daughter about why she was so tired.
The first Monday, she’d said Molly had woken her up early. The second, she’d blamed a late movie. The third, she’d told me the guest room was too warm. Now she’d fallen asleep in the middle of a test.
I called the school, spoke briefly with her teacher, and left work early.
Addie was waiting outside when I pulled into the pickup lane. Her light brown hair was slipping from its ponytail, and she wore the oversized purple sweatshirt she’d had on when I dropped her off at Derek’s on Friday. She climbed into the passenger seat and pressed her forehead against the glass.
"How was school?" I asked, putting the car in drive.
"Fine."
"Your teacher emailed me."
Her eyes stayed shut. "Oh."
"Addie."
"I know. I fell asleep."
"Again."
She opened her eyes, looking out at the traffic. "I’m sorry."
She wasn't being defiant. She looked hollowed out, dark purple crescents bruising the skin beneath her eyes.
"Did you sleep at all this weekend?"
"Yeah."
"How much?"
"I don't know."
"Your dad texted me saying you went to bed at ten."
She pulled the sleeves over her hands. "Something like that."
I didn’t push while driving. But once we were home, I made grilled cheese sandwiches, poured her a glass of milk, and sat across from her at the kitchen table.
"Sweetheart, we need to talk about these weekends."
Addie stopped chewing.
For six years, she had spent every other weekend with her father. Derek wasn't always punctual, and he routinely forgot school forms, but Addie loved him. I had made a strict point never to let our divorce sour her relationship with him. Over the summer, Derek had canceled several weekends because of his contracting job. A month ago, he called asking for four consecutive weekends to make up the lost time.
*She barely sees me anymore,* he had insisted over the phone. *I want to fix that, Nina.*
I had thought it was a breakthrough. Addie had agreed instantly.
Now, looking at her sunken cheeks, cold dread began settling in my chest.
"Your grades are dropping," I told her gently. "You’re exhausted every Monday morning. You missed Emma’s birthday party last Saturday because you insisted you had to be at your dad’s."
Addie picked at the crust. "Emma wasn't mad."
"That’s not the point, Addie. You’re twelve. You shouldn’t be running yourself into the ground." I reached across the table and placed my palm over her cold fingers. "You’re not going to your dad’s this Friday. We’re taking a break until we figure out what’s happening."
Her reaction was instant. "No!"
I blinked. "Addie—"
"No, Mom! Please!" She shoved her chair back with a screech. "I have to go Friday!"
"You can barely keep your eyes open."
"I’ll go to bed early all week! I promise!"
"That doesn't fix whatever is going on over there."
"Please!" Her voice fractured into a desperate sob.
I had expected frustration or disappointment about missing her four-year-old half-sister, Molly. I hadn't expected sheer, white-knuckled terror. Addie’s hands were trembling so hard her glass of milk rattled against the wood.
"Does your dad get angry when you don't visit?" I asked, my heart speeding up.
She shook her head rapidly.
"Then what is it? Did something happen?"
She stared toward the empty hallway, tears spilling over her lashes. "Can you promise you won’t call him?"
"Addie, I can't promise that."
"Mom, please! Swear it!"
I knelt down in front of her chair. "Addie, you're scaring me. What's going on at that house?"
Her jaw quivered. Without another word, she unzipped the front pocket of her backpack and pulled out a folded piece of lined notebook paper. She thrust it into my hands like it was burning her fingers.
At the top, written in Addie’s neat sixth-grade handwriting, were the words: *Molly’s Friday Schedule.*
Underneath was an itemized list:
*6:30 — Dinner (mac and cheese or nuggets only).*
*7:15 — Bath (check water temperature with elbow).*
*8:00 — Pajamas and brush teeth.*
*8:30 — Two books. Yellow bunny blanket.*
*9:00 — Turn hallway nightlight on. Check front door lock.*
*11:00 — Check front door lock again.*
*2:00 AM — Check front door lock.*
I stared at the paper, the room tilting around me. "Why do you have a checklist for Molly’s bedtime?"
"Because Dad forgets things," she whispered.
"Your dad forgets her bedtime?"
Addie shook her head, tears dripping off her chin. "He’s not there, Mom."
"What do you mean he’s not there?"
"When Molly goes to bed. He leaves."
"Leaves where?"
"I don't know! Out!"
"Where is Beth?" I asked, my voice rising despite my efforts to stay calm. Beth was Derek’s wife, a pediatric nurse.
"Working," Addie cried softly. "She picks up the weekend night shifts at the trauma center because they pay double."
My stomach dropped straight into a bottomless void. "Are you telling me Derek leaves you alone overnight with a toddler?"
Addie nodded, choking on a sob.
"How often?"
"Every Friday and Saturday. He leaves right after dinner and doesn't come back until five or six in the morning."
I stood up, every nerve ending in my body firing like live wire. "You are never stepping foot in that house again. I am calling the police, and I am calling Derek right now."
"No!" Addie threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around my waist with hysterical force. "Mom, stop! You don't understand!"
"I understand that your father is committing a crime!"
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"Molly doesn't get to leave when I do!" Addie screamed into my shirt, her whole body convulsing with weeping. "If you don't let me go on Friday, nobody will be there! Dad looked me in the eye and said if I didn't show up, he was still going out, and Molly would just have to stay in her crib alone all night!"
***
