Chapter 2: The Drawing in His Pocket
Part 2 ⬇️
The storage room was small.
Barely enough space to turn around.
A thin blanket on the floor.
A pillow with no case.
A small drawing Toby had made — a house with four figures outside it.
He had written "our family" underneath in crayon.
Clara touched my arm.
"Andrew, please.
Don't make it worse tonight.
Just sign whatever they want.
I can handle it."
That sentence nearly broke me.
She had been alone in this house with them for three weeks while I was in Chicago.
Three weeks.
And she was still trying to protect me from the consequences of their cruelty.
I folded the drawing carefully and put it in my jacket pocket.
When I walked back into the dining room, my father was already on his phone.
"He's home early," Richard said quietly.
"Yes.
Bring the papers tonight instead."
Natalie smiled at me across the table.
"You look tired, Andrew.
Sit down.
Eat with your real family."
I looked at the china on the table.
Clara's china.
"Who's he calling?" I asked Natalie.
She hesitated just long enough.
"Nobody important."
Then my phone buzzed.
A message from my lawyer.
*The second document is ready.
But Andrew — there's something else you need to know before tomorrow.
Call me now.*
---
What did Andrew's lawyer discover — and why did it have to stay secret until morning?
The full truth is in the link below.
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