I was thirteen when everything changed. My name’s Wyatt, and at that age, my world was ruled by one person: Dale—my stepdad. After my mom died, he made rules for every second of my life, rules that mostly meant I had to stay out of sight.
And for a while, I did. I obeyed. But there comes a point when you can’t breathe anymore, when you can’t pretend. That’s when I ran.
I ran to the one place that still felt like mine: my mom’s grave.
I expected quiet. Peace. I didn’t expect… her family.
Life at home after Mom died was like walking on ice—one wrong step and you’d fall hard. Dale’s rules were everywhere.
In front of his friends, he smiled. The perfect host.
“Don’t make noise. Don’t embarrass me. And when I have company? You disappear.”
He loved company—coworkers, “business buddies,” people who laughed like he was the most important man in the world. The doorbell rang, and he’d glance at me.
“Room,” he’d say. “Stay there.”
I hated hiding. I hated being afraid of him. He hated my hoodies, my band shirts. Eyeliner? “Weird,” he muttered once.
Mom used to tell me, “You’re allowed to be you.” Dale thought that was dangerous.
“It’s just a hoodie,” I whispered, mostly to myself.
But he could flip in a second. Friendly in public. Cold and cruel alone.
One day, I tried to sneak to the kitchen during a party.
“Where are you going?” he hissed, grabbing my wrist.
“Water,” I said, barely loud enough for him to hear.
“Not like that,” he said, squeezing my wrist. “Not in front of them.”
I kept my voice steady. “It’s just a hoodie.”
He let go, pointing down the hall. “Room. Now.”
That night, I drank from the bathroom sink, hiding from him.
I learned to escape. Longer walks after school. Sitting behind the library until it closed. Anything to not be alone with him.
“STAY IN THERE AND DON’T BOTHER ME!” his voice thundered from downstairs.
I flinched but stayed still, pretending I didn’t hear.
The Saturday it all changed, he had friends over again. Laughter. Music. I was at my desk, trying to disappear. Then my door flew open.
“Stay in here,” Dale snapped. “Don’t bother me.”
“I won’t,” I said.
He slammed it, yelling, “STAY IN THERE AND DON’T BOTHER ME!”
Someone downstairs laughed. Dale joined in. Like I was the joke.
I had only one place left that felt safe. The cemetery.
I waited. When his voice softened into fake charm again, I slid my window up. First floor. Easy drop.
I ran. I didn’t pack anything. Didn’t even take my backpack. Only my feet, and the memory of Mom.
The cemetery was cold. My breath hitched. My head stayed down, not wanting to picture Dale finding my empty room.
“The gate squeaked,” I whispered to myself, flinching anyway.
Mom’s grave sat under a big oak tree. Her stone was neat, unassuming, but everything to me.
“Hey, Mom,” I whispered. “I’m hiding again.”
I pressed my hand to the grass. “I miss you.”
Then a voice, soft but sharp, came from behind.
“Wyatt?”
I froze.
A woman stood there. Coat, scarf, hands clasped tight. Her face… like Mom’s. Same eyes. Same cheekbones. Lavender perfume.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice shaking.
“Mom?” I breathed.
Her face cracked. “No, honey.”
“Then why do you look like her? Who are you?”
She looked at the headstone. Then back at me.
“I’m Nadine,” she said. “I’m your mom’s mother.”
I stumbled backward. “That’s not true. Dale said she had no family.”
Her jaw tightened. “Dale said what helped Dale.”
She pulled a photo from her purse and held it out. I took it.
Mom, younger, on a couch, holding a baby wrapped in a blanket. Me.
My hands shook.
“I have boxes,” Nadine said. “Cards. Letters. Gifts. I tried to send them.”
“I never got anything,” I whispered.
“I know,” she said, voice sharp. “They didn’t reach you.”
I stared at the photo until it blurred.
“I come here every week,” she said. “I’ve been hoping you’d come.”
“Why?” I asked, voice cracking.
She reached toward me. I flinched. She stopped.
“Because Dale made sure I couldn’t find you anywhere else. And because this was the only place I knew you might come.”
She studied me. “Are you safe with him?”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. She nodded like she’d heard anyway.
“Okay,” she said. “No touching.”
Her presence felt like a doorway to something new.
Then she said, steady, “You’re coming with me.”
I should’ve run. I didn’t.
I nodded. “Okay.”
Her car smelled like peppermint and laundry. I sat stiff, ready to bolt.
“You can tell me to stop,” she said.
“I’m your uncle,” said a voice from the house.
I froze.
A man, tall and tense, stepped into the hall.
“Oh,” he said. “Hi.”
Nadine smiled. “Wyatt, this is Corbin.”
“I’m your uncle,” he repeated, more gently.
“I don’t have—”
“I know,” he cut in. “You’ve been told that. But we’re here.”
Nadine asked, “Hot chocolate?”
I almost said no out of habit. Always stay out of the way.
“You’re more than welcome,” Corbin said.
I nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
Corbin pulled a bin from the closet, opened it on the coffee table.
“He lied,” he said quietly.
Envelopes. Stacks of them. Some stamped, some returned, some unopened.
“That’s your 10th birthday,” Nadine said, tapping one. “I wrote ‘Please give to Wyatt’ in big letters.”
I stared. My name. Her handwriting. Like a trick.
“That one was after your mom’s funeral,” Corbin added. “We begged him to let us see you.”
I swallowed hard. “He said nobody asked.”
Nadine’s eyes hardened. “He lied.”
“What if he says you kidnapped me?” I whispered.
“Then we tell the truth,” Corbin said. “Show them this bin.”
We sat, and I finally spoke about Dale.
“He yells,” I said. My eyes burned.
“Does he hurt you?” Corbin asked.
I hesitated.
“Whatever you say,” Nadine said, “we’re not sending you back.”
I told them. “He grabs me. My wrist. My arm. When he’s mad. Or when people are over.”
“Has he hit you?”
“No. But he yells a lot.”
Silence. Nadine’s lips went white as she pressed them together. Corbin stared at the floor.
“We tried to reach you,” Nadine said. “Dale blocked everything. Threatened legal action. Called us unstable.”
“He can’t do that,” I said, too fast.
“He did,” Corbin said. “He wanted you cut off.”
Nadine stood. “We’re doing this the right way. We’re getting an officer.”
Panic hit me. “He’ll—”
“He’ll charm,” Corbin said. “Let him. We won’t be alone with him.”
The officer knocked. Dale opened the door, smiling. Then he saw me.
His smile twitched. Eyes went cold. Mask back on.
“Sir,” the officer said, “we’re removing the minor during an investigation.”
“This is ridiculous,” Dale said. “He’s upset because I have rules.”
Nadine’s head snapped up. “Don’t talk about her.”
“You stole eleven years,” she said, calm. “You don’t get one more day.”
The officer stepped between us. “Wyatt, grab what you need.”
I went to my room, grabbed a hoodie, my charger, and Mom’s bracelet. My fingers shook so badly I dropped the bracelet once.
At Nadine’s, the first night I didn’t sleep. Bed too soft, quiet too quiet. I waited for footsteps outside my door.
Morning came. Nadine didn’t ask me to act normal. She set cereal on the table. “Eat if you can.”
Corbin pointed to the door lock. “You can lock it. If it helps.”
I just wanted to feel safe. For once, I did.
Days blurred into questions, paperwork, and counselors asking me what I liked. I didn’t know. Nobody had ever asked me before.
Two weeks later, an envelope arrived.
Nadine’s face went tight. “It’s from Dale’s lawyer.”
Corbin swore. Then Nadine handed it to me.
“If you keep this going, you’ll find out what really happened to your mother,” she said.
My hands went cold.
“What does that mean?”
Nadine looked down. Corbin looked away.
“Your mom was afraid of Dale,” Nadine said.
“So was I,” I snapped.
“Not like this,” she said. “She told me things before she died. She begged me to watch Dale.”
She pulled an old envelope from her coat pocket. Yellowed. Soft at the edges. Mom’s handwriting: Wyatt.
Hands trembling, I opened it.
One line, underlined twice:
If Dale ever comes back scared, it means you’re finally old enough to know the truth.
I looked at Nadine. She stared at Mom’s grave, tears running. Corbin’s fists clenched.
And then I understood.
The scariest part wasn’t Dale coming after me.
It was the truth Mom had been trying to protect me from.
I held the letter to my chest. For the first time in years, I was safe.
And Dale knew exactly why.