Chapter 4: Pennies on the Dollar
353 words
I fell to my knees, my fingers trembling as I reached for the shards of glass. The photo of my father lay face down on the hardwood, partially obscured by Tiffany’s leopard-print hem. She didn’t even step back; she just giggled as I cut my thumb on a jagged edge, clutching the picture to my chest like a shield. I couldn't breathe in that house anymore. I grabbed my purse and ran.
Twenty minutes later, the harsh fluorescent lights of the grocery store offered no sanctuary. I watched the total climb: $14.50. Just bread, milk, and a tin of generic soup.
I swiped the joint debit card. The machine buzzed. DECLINED.
"Try it again," I whispered, wiping my sweaty hands on my faded coat. My heart hammered against my ribs.
The cashier, a teenager popping bubbles with her gum, sighed loudly. "It says 'Card Frozen by Primary Holder.' Do you have another one? Or cash?"
Richard. Of course. He’d cut me off completely. I could feel the heat rising up my neck, scorching my cheeks. The line behind me shifted impatiently. A man cleared his throat. I dug through my purse, finding only three crumpled dollar bills and a handful of copper pennies.
"I... I'll just take the bread," I stammered, my voice cracking.
"You're still short," the girl said, not unkindly, but the pity in her eyes was worse than Richard’s cruelty. "Maybe put the bread back?"
I walked out with nothing but the pennies jingling in my pocket. The sky had turned a bruised purple, and rain began to fall, cold and sharp. I had no car keys—Richard had taken them 'for Tiffany’s safety'—so I began the three-mile walk back to the prison that used to be my home.
When I finally trudged up the driveway, soaked to the bone, I saw Richard standing on the porch. He was holding a stack of mail, tossing envelopes one by one into the overflowing wheelie bin by the curb. "More junk for the junk lady," he laughed, tossing a heavy, bonded envelope into the slop.
End of Chapter 4
