Chapter 4 - A New, Humble Beginning
Clara’s boarding house was an old, three-story Victorian home with peeling white paint and a large, welcoming front porch. Clara herself was a no-nonsense woman in her sixties with silver hair and sharp, kind eyes. She met us at the door at 2:00 AM, looked at our bags, looked at Graham’s tired face, and simply nodded.
"My sister told me what happened," Clara said, leading us down a flight of creaky wooden stairs to the basement apartment. "This is the garden suite. It has its own entrance from the back alley, a small kitchenette, a bathroom, and a bedroom. It’s not fancy, but it’s private."
The apartment was cozy. It smelled of old wood and lavender. There was a small futon in the living area and a double bed in the bedroom.
"I’ll charge you $500 a month, utilities included," Clara said, looking at me intently. "But you have to promise me one thing, young lady. No drama. No angry boyfriends showing up at my door. If I see him, I call the police immediately."
"You won't see him," I promised. "And I have the first month's rent right here." I pulled five hundred-dollar bills from my envelope and handed them to her.
She took the money, her expression softening. "Get some sleep, kids. We’ll talk more tomorrow."
That night, Graham and I slept in the same bed. He held onto my arm like a lifeline. I stared at the ceiling, listening to the hum of the old refrigerator. We had a roof over our heads, but we were completely on our own.
The next morning, the reality of our situation set in. I had to secure a steady income, find a way to keep Graham safe while I worked, and deal with the inevitable fallout from my mother.
I turned on my phone, which I had kept on silent. It exploded with notifications. Twenty-three missed calls from my mother. Seventeen text messages.
Nellie, where are you? Bring your brother back right now. You are kidnapping him. I will call the police. Don't ruin this family, Nellie. Come home.
My hands shook as I read the messages. I knew she probably wouldn't call the police right away because she didn't want the state investigating her home and finding out about Austin's abuse, but I couldn't take any chances. I needed legal advice, but I couldn't afford a lawyer.
I decided to text her back to establish a paper trail.
We are safe. We are not coming back. Austin hit Graham, and you defended him. If you try to force us back, or if Austin comes near us, I will show the police the photos of Graham's face and tell them everything.
I took several photos of the faint bruise on Graham’s cheek, timestamped and saved to a secure cloud drive. I also saved a screenshot of the text message where my mother admitted Austin "was out of line." It was my only leverage.
Later that afternoon, I walked to the local library with Graham. He loved the library; the quiet atmosphere and the rows of books always calmed him down. While he sat in the children's section reading a book about dinosaurs, I sat at a computer terminal and started looking for jobs.
I needed something that paid better than my retail job, something with flexible hours, or something where I could bring Graham with me. It seemed like an impossible task.
As I scrolled through local job boards, a flyer on the library bulletin board caught my eye.
HELP WANTED: Assistant Caretaker for the Miller Estate. Flexible hours. On-site cottage available for the right candidate. Duties include light housekeeping, gardening, and assisting the elderly owner.
May you like
The Miller Estate was a historic property on the outskirts of the city. My heart hammered in my chest. An on-site cottage? If I could get that job, we wouldn't just have an income; we would have a real home.
I immediately wrote down the phone number. I knew I had to try. For Graham's sake, I had to try.
