Starting Over with My Daughter

My name is Caleb Scott, and I have lived with my wife Melody Young and daughter Nola Scott for ten years. In those ten years, Melody has ruled the household. Nola and I have long been accustomed to her domineering ways, but what happened that evening still felt like a thorn piercing my heart. I had just placed the two new pairs of socks at the very bottom of the wardrobe—they were for Nola Scott, since her old socks had holes worn through the toes—when Melody Young suddenly pushed open the bedroom door with a bang. "Who told you to buy things without reporting it first?" Her voice was like an ice pick in the dead of winter, piercing straight through me until my scalp tingled; the socks clenched in my hand nearly slipped to the floor. I paused, then carefully folded the socks and put them in the drawer, turning back to say as gently as I could, "It's just a few bucks, and they're for Nola. Her old socks were ruined, and I thought there was no need to bother you, so I went ahead and bought them myself." "No need?" Melody Young sneered, her laugh full of derision. She turned to look at Nola Scott, who was hiding behind the doorframe with only half her head visible. Her voice suddenly rose sharply, "Your daughter knows too, right? You two are teaming up to hide things from me?" Nola shrank back in fright and quickly ran behind me, her small hand clutching tightly at the edge of my shirt. Her voice trembled with tears, "Mom, I didn't mean to... When Dad bought the socks, I was just watching nearby. I wasn't trying to hide it from you." "Shut up!" Melody Young snapped sharply, pointing toward the basement, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Both of you, go to the basement now and reflect for three days." You're not allowed to come out or eat without my permission. I frowned, trying to protest, "Melody, this is too much. Nola is still so young, and the basement is so cold..." "What? Are you still going to plead for her?" Melody Young glared at me, the chill in her eyes forcing me to swallow the rest of my words. "Either you go right now, or neither of you will eat this month." There was no other choice; I could only take Nola Scott's hand and walk toward the basement. The basement was cold and damp, with a musty smell lingering in the air. Only a small window in the corner let in a faint light, barely enough to chase away the chill. Nola Scott leaned closer to me, her little hands icy cold. She clung to my arm and whispered through tears, "Dad, I'm so scared. It's so cold here, and I'm still hungry." I touched her flushed cheeks, chilled from the cold. My heart twisted with a dull ache. I could only pull her into my arms and warm her with my own body heat. "Don't be afraid. Dad is here with you. Once these three days are over, we'll go out and eat something delicious." During those three days, Melody Young never came downstairs to see us. Only on the second day at noon did she have the nanny slip half a bottle of cold water through the door crack—without even a piece of bread. Nola Scott's lips had turned pale from hunger, and she barely had the strength to speak. I could only divide that half bottle of water so she could drink more while I endured the hunger myself. On the morning of the third day, the basement door was finally opened. Melody Young stood at the doorway, holding her phone, speaking in a gentle tone I had never heard from her before—completely unlike how she usually spoke to us: 'Dylan, I've transferred your son's overseas study funds. Please check. If it's not enough, let me know. Don't let the child suffer any injustice.' I stood there stunned. Dylan is Melody Young's first love, Dylan Shaw. They had been in contact all along, but I never expected that Melody would have sent so much money to the other man's son—enough for our whole family to live on for more than half a year. After hanging up, Melody saw Nola and me, and the warmth in her eyes instantly vanished, replaced by the coldness she always showed before. "What are you standing there for? Hurry up and cook. I'm hungry." I looked at her face, which changed in an instant, and suddenly felt utterly estranged, as if the ten years of marriage between us had all been a lie. During dinner, Melody Young's phone rang again. She answered it, and her voice immediately grew tense: "What? He crashed the luxury car? Is it serious? How much damage? Five hundred thousand? It's okay, don't worry. I'll handle it. I'm heading over right now." After hanging up, she grabbed her bag from the sofa and was about to leave. I couldn't help but ask, "Where are you going? Nola hasn't finished eating yet." "Dylan Shaw's son got into trouble. I'm going to check on him." She said without looking back, her steps steady, and soon the sound of the door closing faded away. I looked at the almost untouched food on the table, then glanced at Nola, who kept her head down with dull eyes. Suddenly, a thought came to me — I have to take Nola away from here, away from Melody Young, and never come back.