Chapter 2: The Secrets Behind Closed Doors
I didn’t sleep that night.
I sat in the living room long after everyone went upstairs.
The house that once felt peaceful suddenly felt unfamiliar.
Every corner held a question.
Every memory felt suspicious.
I looked at the family photos hanging on the wall.
There was one from two years earlier.
Melissa was smiling.
Her children were smiling.
Jasmine stood beside them.
But now, looking at it, I noticed something I had ignored.
Jasmine wasn’t smiling.
She was trying.
There was a difference.
Around two in the morning, I heard footsteps.
Jasmine walked into the room wearing an oversized sweatshirt.
“Dad?””
I looked up.
“You should be sleeping.””
She sat beside me.
“I couldn’t.””
Neither could I.
For several seconds, we just sat there.
Finally, I asked:
“What else happened?””
She stared at the floor.
“I didn’t want to tell you because I thought you’d be angry.””
“Angry at who?””
She looked at me.
“At me.””
Those words hurt more than anything else.
“Jasmine, why would I be angry at you?””
She shrugged.
“Because every time I complained, she said I was causing problems.””
I clenched my jaw.
“What problems?””
Jasmine took a deep breath.
“Dad, Melissa doesn’t like me.””
I wanted to argue.
I wanted to say she was wrong.
But after what I saw that night, I couldn’t.
“Tell me everything.””
Jasmine looked toward the staircase.
“She tells me I’m lucky you still choose me.””
My face went cold.
“What?””
“She says you had a new family now. That you only keep me around because you feel guilty about Mom.””
I felt like someone had punched me.
Jasmine’s mother, Rachel, had passed away when Jasmine was eleven.
It had been the hardest moment of both our lives.
After that, I had promised Jasmine I would always be there.
And now someone had been making her feel unwanted.
“Did Melissa really say that?””
Jasmine nodded.
“Many times.””
I stood up.
I started pacing.
Every step felt heavier.
“Why didn’t you tell me?””
“Because every time I tried, she would cry before I finished.””
Jasmine’s voice became quieter.
“She would tell you I was attacking her. Then you would tell me to be patient.””
I stopped walking.
Because I remembered.
I remembered those conversations.
I remembered saying:
“Jasmine, Melissa is trying her best.””
I remembered telling my daughter to understand.
But I never asked Melissa to understand Jasmine.
The guilt was overwhelming.
The next morning, I confronted Melissa in the kitchen.
She was making coffee like nothing happened.
Like my daughter’s tears from the night before didn’t exist.
“Melissa.””
She looked up.
“Yes?””
“We need to talk.””
Her expression immediately became defensive.
“About Jasmine?””
“Yes.””
She sighed.
“I knew this was coming.””
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?””
“It means she finally got what she wanted.””
I frowned.
“What she wanted?””
Melissa placed the coffee cup down.
“She wants you against me.””
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“My daughter wanted me to notice she was eating rice on the floor?””
“She’s exaggerating.””
“No.””
My voice became louder.
“She looked afraid.””
Melissa rolled her eyes.
“You always do this.””
“Do what?””
“Choose her.””
The sentence hung in the air.
I stared at her.
“That’s my daughter.””
“And I’m your wife.””
“Yes,” I said.
“But being my wife doesn’t mean you get to hurt her.””
Melissa looked away.
“I never hurt her.””
I stepped closer.
“Then explain the plate.””
She stayed silent.
That silence told me more than any confession.
Later that day, I checked the kitchen cabinets.
I wasn’t looking for proof.
I was hoping I wouldn’t find any.
But I did.
Hidden behind several boxes was a small container with Jasmine’s name written on it.
Inside were instant noodles, crackers, and canned food.
I froze.
When Jasmine came home from school, I held up the container.
“What is this?””
Her face changed immediately.
“You found it.””
“Why do you have hidden food?””
She looked embarrassed.
“Because sometimes there’s nothing left after they eat.””
I sat down.
“Jasmine…”
She looked away.
“I started saving snacks because I didn’t know when I’d get dinner.””
I felt sick.
That night, I made a decision.
I was going to find out exactly what had been happening when I wasn’t home.
The next morning, I told Melissa I had to work late.
But I didn’t go to work.
I parked my car several streets away and waited.
I needed to know the truth.
Because Melissa was still denying everything.
And I needed to see what happened when she thought I wasn’t watching.
Hours passed.
Then I saw something through the window.
Melissa was standing in the kitchen.
Jasmine had just come home from school.
I couldn’t hear every word.
But I saw Melissa point toward the counter.
I saw Jasmine lower her head.
Then Melissa took a plate from the refrigerator.
A plate that looked exactly like the one from the night before.
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
I got out of the car.
I walked toward the house.
And before I reached the door, I heard Melissa say something that made me stop.
“You should be grateful I let you stay here.””
I opened the door.
Melissa turned around.
Her face went pale.
May you like
Because this time, she couldn’t say she was misunderstood.
I had heard her myself.
