Chapter 2 - The House of Glass
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Linda stood frozen in the doorway, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, realization finally dawning on her that her golden-boy son had just been carted away by armed soldiers.
“Pack your things, Linda,” Dad said, his back turned to her as he adjusted the blanket back over my legs with infinite, trembling care.
“What?” Linda snapped, her defensive mask snapping back into place with a sneer of indignation. “This is my apartment lease! My son pays the rent! You can’t just kick me out of my own home—”
“This apartment is leased under a military housing allowance subsidized by my daughter’s allotment,” Dad interrupted, turning around slowly. His eyes were cold enough to freeze blood. “And as of two minutes ago, my legal team has frozen every shared account, credit line, and asset tied to Ryan’s name. You have twenty minutes to gather your things, or I will have the MPs carry you out the exact same way they carried your son.”
Linda stared at him, her chest heaving with rage. She looked at me, her eyes spitting pure venom. “You ungrateful, manipulative little bitch. We gave you a home. We fed you. And this is how you repay us—running to your daddy like a helpless child.”
I didn't cower this time. For months, I had let her voice shrink me into the mattress, letting her convince me that I was a burden, that I was crazy, that nobody else would ever put up with me. But looking at her now, standing in the wreckage of the lies she had helped build, I saw her for what she truly was: a coward who thrived on cruelty.
“Get out, Linda,” I said, my voice steady and cold.
She scoffed, tossing her head back. “You’ll regret this, Emily. Ryan’s family has connections you don't know about. You think a colonel can protect you forever? Once this baby is born—”
“If you finish that sentence,” Dad said quietly, taking one measured step forward, “you will spend the rest of your natural life visiting your son in a military stockade.”
Linda swallowed hard, the sheer menace in my father’s quiet tone finally cutting through her arrogance. Without another word, she turned on her heel, stormed down the hallway, and slammed the guest room door behind her.
Dad exhaled a long, shaky breath, sinking back down onto the edge of the bed. He took my hand again, his thumb gently tracing the bruised skin around my wrist where Ryan’s fingers had clamped down just hours earlier.
“I’m sorry, Emmy,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I was so blind. I was miles away, thinking I was serving my country, while my own flesh and blood was fighting a war right here in this room.”
“You didn't know, Dad,” I choked out, leaning my head against his shoulder. The familiar scent of starch, leather, and old paper—the smell of my father—finally made me feel safe for the first time in months. “They lied to everyone. They made me feel like nobody would believe me.”
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“I will always believe you,” he vowed fiercely, kissing the top of my head. “And we are getting you out of here tonight. Pack your bag. You’re coming home with me.”
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