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 2 — The Rules for Being Good

My first decision was to create a schedule.

It seems foolish looking back, but at twelve, I thought making plans meant having control.

I grabbed a sheet of notebook paper and wrote:

8:00 — Eat breakfast.

9:00 — Read books.

10:00 — Tidy bedroom.

12:00 — Eat lunch.

2:00 — Watch television.

5:00 — Have dinner.

9:00 — Go to bed.

At the bottom, I wrote one final reminder.

Don’t disturb Dad.

I attached the paper to our refrigerator.

Then I checked the freezer.

Andrea had purchased five frozen meals, a package of chicken nuggets, two frozen pizzas, and one box of waffles.

The refrigerator also contained eggs, milk, bread, cereal, apples, and a few containers of leftovers.

I counted the supplies.

They appeared sufficient.

At lunchtime, I prepared myself a peanut butter sandwich.

I sat eating at the kitchen table, hearing the refrigerator humming nearby.

Normally, our home was full of noise.

Dad listened to classic rock while preparing meals. Andrea enjoyed cooking programs while sorting clean laundry.

Sometimes they disagreed over where things belonged or who should carry the garbage outside.

But now the kitchen clock above the stove was all I heard ticking.

I switched on the television simply to hear another person speaking.

Around three, my phone vibrated.

It was Dad.

Love you, Peanut. Behave yourself this week.

I studied the message.

I desperately wanted to ask whether he’d truly agreed to leave me home by myself.

But Andrea insisted he already knew.

If I questioned him, perhaps he’d believe I didn’t trust his judgment.

Or that I wanted him to feel guilty.

Instead, I replied:

Love you too, Dad.

He responded with a heart.

I smiled softly.

Then I put my phone aside and returned to following my schedule.

Andrea hadn’t always preferred having me somewhere else.

When she first began seeing Dad, she regularly included me in their Saturday activities.

We went bowling. We explored the zoo. One afternoon, we traveled nearly two hours to a farm where visitors could feed young goats.

Andrea purchased a stuffed goat for me at the gift shop.

I kept it beside me while sleeping for months.

After their wedding, things gradually began changing.

Initially, the changes seemed small.

“Why not spend Saturday with Grandma? Your father and I already made plans.”

Or:

“Wouldn’t you enjoy staying at your friend’s house instead of spending the evening with us?”

Then there were summer camps.

I enjoyed camp, although Andrea sometimes registered me without asking if I actually wanted to attend.

When I turned ten, Dad promised we’d spend a weekend repairing an old bicycle he’d discovered.

Andrea made arrangements for me to stay with my cousin instead.

When I returned home, Dad apologized.

“Andrea figured you’d enjoy spending time with your cousin more.”

I assured him everything was fine.

And mostly, it was.

I’d enjoyed visiting my cousin.

Still, I sometimes missed spending time with Dad.

One evening, I overheard Andrea speaking to him in the kitchen.

“We hardly ever have time to ourselves anymore.”

Dad answered, but I couldn’t make out his words.

Then Andrea responded, “I understand she’s your daughter, Nathan. I haven’t forgotten that.”

I quietly returned upstairs before either noticed me.

Afterward, I tried to avoid asking for much.

Whenever Dad was occupied, I entertained myself. Whenever Andrea suggested visiting Grandma, I agreed. Whenever they arranged dinner without including me, I claimed I wasn’t hungry anyway.

I believed that’s what being a considerate child meant.

Sunday morning, I found myself waking up on the couch.

I’d come downstairs after hearing something outside my bedroom window.

Eventually, I realized a tree branch was brushing against the siding.

But I didn’t want to return upstairs.

I prepared cereal and spent some time watching cartoons.

Afterward, I rinsed my bowl.

Around noon, our neighbor Mrs. Ruiz knocked.

I immediately froze.

Andrea’s instructions warned me against opening doors for unfamiliar people.

But Mrs. Ruiz wasn’t unfamiliar.

She’d lived next door since before Mom passed away. Sometimes she shared vegetables from her garden, and she kept a spare key because she helped watch our house whenever we traveled.

“Molly?” she called. “Are you home?”

I started toward the door.

Then I hesitated.

What could I tell her?

I’m staying here alone while Dad and Andrea enjoy their vacation?

Perhaps she’d believe I’d done something irresponsible.

Maybe she’d telephone Dad.

I could practically imagine Andrea telling him I’d exaggerated something completely ordinary.

Mrs. Ruiz knocked once more.

“I brought you some cookies, sweetheart. I’ll leave them right outside.”

I waited until her footsteps faded away.

Then I unlocked the door.

A little container rested on the welcome mat.

Chocolate chip cookies.

A handwritten note was attached to the lid.

Baked too many. Enjoy!

I carried them indoors.

That evening, I warmed a frozen dinner and enjoyed two cookies afterward.

Then I looked at my phone.

There weren’t any new messages.

I reminded myself Dad was probably enjoying his vacation.

And that was a good thing.

Wasn’t it?

PART 3