Chapter 1 - SEVEN BLOCKS
The screwdriver slipped from my hand when I saw Drew dragging himself up my porch steps.
For one second, my brain refused to understand what I was looking at.
My six-year-old nephew was crawling.
Not playing.
Not pretending.
Crawling.
His left leg bent strangely beneath him. Both palms were scraped raw, his blue T-shirt was dark with sweat, and every time his knee touched the concrete he made a small sound through clenched teeth.
Behind him came Lily.
Three years old.
Barely keeping up.
Both fists twisted into the back of Drew’s shirt as though letting go might make him disappear.
Her curls were matted.
Her lips were cracked.
Her little face had that hollow, exhausted look children should never have.
“Uncle Peter.”
Drew’s voice was barely there.
I ran down the steps.
“What happened?”
He looked behind himself first.
At Lily.
Always Lily.
“She locked us downstairs again.”
Again.
I felt the word before I understood it.
I lifted Lily.
She was frighteningly light.
Then I crouched beside Drew.
“Can I pick you up?”
He nodded once.
When I slid one arm beneath his knees, he screamed.
Not loudly.
That was worse.
He bit the collar of his shirt to smother the sound.
I carried him inside and laid him on my couch.
Lily immediately climbed beside him.
“Food,” Drew whispered.
I reached for my phone.
“No.”
His eyes widened with panic.
“Don’t call her.”
“I’m calling an ambulance.”
“She’ll know.”
“She isn’t coming here.”
Drew started shaking.
“She said if I tell, they’ll take Lily away.”
I knelt beside him.
“Look at me.”
His eyes finally met mine.
“No one is taking your sister because you asked for help.”
He didn’t believe me.
That broke something inside me.
Their father—my younger brother Aaron—had died eighteen months earlier from a sudden pulmonary embolism at thirty-five.
Reena had been his wife for four years.
Aaron trusted her.
So did I.
Or at least I had chosen to.
After his death, probate court appointed Reena guardian of the children because Aaron’s will nominated her first.
I was listed as alternate guardian.
I told myself respecting his wishes was the decent thing to do.
Then Reena started limiting visits.
Drew was sick.
Lily was sleeping.
They were adjusting.
Seeing me reminded them of Aaron.
I accepted every explanation because conflict felt like disrespecting my dead brother.
Now Drew had crawled seven blocks to show me exactly what my politeness had cost.
Paramedics arrived with police minutes later.
One medic stabilized Drew’s leg.
Another examined Lily.
The room changed when her sweatshirt came off.
Her ribs were too visible.
There were bruises on Drew’s ankle and older marks along both children’s arms.
Nobody made dramatic accusations.
They documented.
That somehow felt worse.
At Nationwide Children’s Hospital in Columbus, an X-ray showed Drew had a spiral fracture of his tibia.
At least two weeks old.
Untreated.
Lily was dehydrated and severely underweight.
A child-protection caseworker named Monica Reeves arrived before Drew’s cast was finished.
She asked how they escaped.
Drew stared at his blanket.
“Reena forgot the little key.”
“What key?”
“The basement key.”
He swallowed.
“I waited until her car left.”
“And then?”
“I carried Lily upstairs.”
He looked ashamed.
“But outside my leg hurt too much.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“I dropped her once.”
Lily reached across the hospital bed and touched his sleeve.
“I’m okay.”
Three years old.
Comforting him.
Monica asked:
“Why did you come to Uncle Peter’s house instead of a neighbor?”
Drew looked at me.
“Dad said Uncle Peter always comes when you really need him.”
I had to turn away.
May you like
Because for eighteen months, they had needed me.
And I had been standing politely outside the wrong front door.
