Page 230 of Let Me In

But I don’t answer. I don’t even turn.

I check the tires. Feel the chain. Glance toward the for-sale sign leaning just behind it, sticking half out of a tote. Didn’t even bother to plant it in the lawn. Just tossed it nearby like it didn’t matter.

Then I kick up the stand and roll it, past him, to my truck.

Ease it into the bed with the same care I’d use for a weapon, or a wounded body. Strap it down like it’s cargo under fire. Tight. Secure. Unshakable.

The front door creaks. Her mother steps outside, squinting against the sun. She blinks. Sees me. Then the bike.

“What’s going on?”

I don’t turn. Just mutter, “Ask your husband.”

That’s all it takes.

She looks past me.

Sees the sign.

The For Sale print.

And something in her snaps.

“You put it up for sale?” she says, voice cracking wide with disbelief. “You were actually going to sell her bike? The one she bought with her own money—after everything?”

He sputters. Tries to wave it off.

But she’s already crossing the yard. Grabbing his arm, hauling him around.

“No,” she spits. “No, you don’t get to act like that didn’t happen. You don’t get to treat her like that and think I won’t say anything.”

He tries to pull back.

Big mistake.

She lets him have it.

Right there in the open.

“That’s your daughter!”

It echoes through the trees.

And I go still. One hand resting on the bike in the truck bed, the other curled into a fist I don’t lift.

For a second, I don’t see her—I see Emmy. Small. Braced. Waiting to be dismissed.

But her mother doesn’t look away. Not this time. Not when it matters.

And for the first time, something shifts in me. A flicker of respect. Because someone finally stood up for her, loud and raw and without shame.

Because maybe Emmy's not alone in this fight after all.

I stand still, watching the man who made Emmy cry get dragged inside by the woman I never expected to raise her voice.

But she does.

Loud.

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