At twelve, I unexpectedly found myself spending the week at home without adult supervision, worried that speaking up might cause problems in Dad’s marriage. But I never imagined Dad had been misled too…
Chapter 3 — What Counts as an Emergency?
By Monday afternoon, following my schedule had become exhausting.
I’d already tidied my bedroom twice.
I’d finished nearly an entire mystery novel.
I’d watched three movies and eaten so much cereal that another bowl sounded unappealing.
The food and household chores weren’t what troubled me.
What bothered me was having nobody around to share things with.
I discovered a hilarious video featuring a dog struggling to carry a stick through a doorway.
I nearly forwarded it to Dad.
Then I recalled Andrea reminding me that he deserved some rest.
I put my phone aside.
That evening, the weather began changing.
Heavy clouds gathered above our neighborhood around six.
By seven, rain was striking the windows so loudly that hearing the television became difficult.
I was warming chicken nuggets in the microwave when the lights began flickering.
Once.
Then twice.
Suddenly, the entire house went dark.
The microwave shut off.
The television fell silent.
For a moment, I stood completely motionless.
Then a powerful thunderclap startled me, and the plate slipped from my hands.
It shattered across the kitchen floor.
I stood there in darkness, trying to steady my breathing.
“Alright,” I whispered.
I was twelve.
I could handle this.
I located the flashlight Andrea had placed in the kitchen drawer and switched it on.
Its light revealed the broken plate and nuggets scattered across the floor.
I carefully cleaned the mess, making sure no sharp fragments remained.
Then I settled onto the couch.
Another loud rumble of thunder rattled the windows.
I reached for my phone.
Dad’s name appeared immediately.
I only needed to tap it.
I pictured him answering while enjoying dinner.
What’s happening, Molly?
And I’d explain:
I’m frightened because our electricity stopped working.
Would he feel disappointed?
Would he wonder why I couldn’t manage a simple thunderstorm?
I remembered Andrea explaining what qualified as an emergency.
A fire.
Someone getting injured.
Something genuinely serious.
The thunderstorm was frightening, but I hadn’t been injured.
Instead, I opened my messages and contacted Andrea.
The electricity went out. I’m frightened.
I watched the small message bubble.
Five minutes went by.
Then another ten.
Eventually, my phone vibrated.
Find your flashlight. Power outages happen sometimes.
I replied:
Could I call Dad?
Her response appeared almost instantly.
He’s sleeping already. Please don’t wake him for something like this.
I kept staring at her message.
Then I answered:
Okay.
Another text appeared.
You’re handling everything well. I’m proud you’re acting so responsibly.
I read those words twice.
Andrea rarely said anything encouraging to me these days.
I desperately wanted to believe her.
The electricity returned around ten.
I remained on the couch, holding the flashlight across my lap.
When the television suddenly switched itself on, I jumped.
I chuckled at my reaction.
Then tears began rolling down my cheeks.
I hadn’t planned on crying.
But once I started, stopping seemed impossible.
I missed my father.
I missed Grandma.
Somehow, I even missed Andrea, although that felt strange because she’d arranged for me to stay alone.
I dried my cheeks with my sleeve and headed upstairs for my pillow.
Passing Dad’s bedroom, I paused.
His bedroom door stood open. His slippers were beside the bed.
One rested sideways, exactly where he’d left it Friday evening.
I stepped inside.
The familiar scent of his aftershave still lingered in the room.
I sat quietly on the mattress edge for a moment.
Then I grabbed an old sweatshirt from his chair and brought it downstairs.
I wore it while sleeping that night.
The following morning, sunlight greeted me through the windows.
Andrea had sent another message.
Is everything alright?
I answered:
Yes. The electricity returned.
That’s my girl.
I glanced toward the clock.
Tuesday.
Four days behind me.
Only three remaining.
I convinced myself the hardest part was finally over.
I couldn’t have known that three hours afterward, Grandma would place a telephone call that changed everything.
