Their Obedient Youngest Daughter Stopped Coming Home Chapter 05
The cup tilted in Mom’s hand, coffee dripping over the rim and spreading across the table.
Dad was watching TV. Blythe was curled up on the couch, peeling a pomelo.
Mom’s voice tightened. “Glenn, Ellis blocked me.”
“What do you mean she blocked you?”
Dad sat up. The show was still playing in the background.
Mom handed him her phone.
He stared at the notification for five full seconds before frowning.
“She deleted you?”
“No. She blocked me. I can’t even send her a message.”
Dad pulled out his phone and called Ellis. It rang a few times before the call went straight to voicemail.
Blythe set the grapefruit aside and leaned over to look at Mom’s phone.
“She left the family group chat too.”
Confusion crossed Mom’s face.
Then disbelief gave way to panic, something none of us had ever seen on her face before. It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
“What’s gotten into that girl now?”
—
She took her phone back.
“She probably deleted me by accident. She’ll add me back in a couple of days.”
Dad leaned against the couch again.
“She’s always been like this. So dramatic.”
Blythe stayed quiet. Her hands froze around the pomelo.
No one brought it up again. That was their first reaction. Not worry—a conclusion.
She was throwing a tantrum. She’d probably tapped the wrong button. She’d come back on her own.
That was how they always treated me.
They assumed that if they ignored the problem long enough, it would eventually go away.
I never knew how that night ended.
What I did know was this.
The fourth day after Christmas. The fifth. The sixth. Not one of them tried to reach me.
One member of the family disappeared without a word.
Three days passed before anyone even thought something might be wrong.
When campus started filling up again after break, Romy came back with homemade smoked sausage from her hometown.
—
She burst into the room talking about cooking dinner for everyone.
Then she saw me sitting at my desk with a book.
She blinked. “Wait. You’ve been here this whole break?”
“I got out once. Went to St. Matthew’s Church.”
“By yourself?”
“Yeah.”
She set the food down. Looked at me for a second.
Then quietly slipped an envelope under my pillow.
“My mom asked me to give this to you. She said spending the holidays alone couldn’t have been easy.”
“It’s Christmas gift.”
I pulled it out.
Two hundred dollars. The front was printed with a chubby cartoon rabbit.
“She really don’t have to…”
Romy grabbed my wrist before I could hand it back.
“My mom said everyone deserves Christmas gift.”
“If you don’t take it, no more blueberry muffins next time.”
I held the envelope in my hand.
Two hundred dollars. From a woman I’d never even met.
—
She remembered a girl she’d never met.
My own mother never once asked if I’d even had a meal.
After break, life slipped quietly into a new semester.
I started putting my life back together.
I didn’t try to do it all at once, just focused on one small step at a time.
I joined the campus paper.
During the interview, one of the editors asked why I wanted to join the campus paper.
“Because I want to learn how to tell a story clearly.”
He smiled. “Most people say they want to build skills or pad their résumé. Yours is a lot more honest.”
I didn’t tell him the real reason.
It wasn’t just about telling stories.
I wanted to find another way to give a voice to the words no one had ever heard.
My first article investigated rising prices in the cafeteria.
I interviewed more than a dozen students and three dining managers.
The piece was packed with charts and data.
After it ran in the campus paper, our professor Mr. Harland asked to speak with me privately.
—
“Ellis, your piece was remarkably well-organized and the data was solid. That’s rare for a freshman.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you ever thought about going into journalism?”
“Not yet.”
“There’s no rush. But you’ve got real talent. Don’t let it go to waste.”
Talent. It was the first time in eighteen years anyone had used that word for me.
At home, talent had always belonged to Blythe.
March brought endless rain to Riverton.
One rainy afternoon, my phone rang. Another unfamiliar number.
“Hello?”
“Ellis? It’s me. Blythe.”
My grip tightened. She’d called from a different number.
“Why did you delete Mom, Dad, and me?”
“We’ve been trying to reach you, and your phone’s been off. Mom’s been worried sick.”
They hadn’t worried before school started again.
Maybe now they needed someone to run an errand.
“My phone broke. I got a new number.”
—
“Then give me the new one.”
I stayed quiet for a moment.
“Blythe. Did Mom and Dad put you up to this?”
There was a pause.
Then she went on, “Mom wanted me to check if you were still alive.”
Not “How are you doing?” Not “Do you need anything?” Just “Are you still alive?”
Like checking whether something forgotten in storage was still there.
“I am. You can tell her exactly that.”
“Ellis, what happened? Did something happen at school? You can tell me.”
“No. School’s been good.”
“Then why did you cut us off?”
Why? If she truly didn’t know, nothing I said would matter.
And if she did know, there was even less reason to explain.
“I just wanted some peace.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom asked if you’re coming home to visit the cemetery.”
“No.”
—
“What about next break?”
“No.”
“Then summer break—”
“Blythe, I have to go. Class.”
I hung up. My palms were damp.
I blocked that number too.
Then I sat in the back row of class, staring at the rain outside.
I didn’t hear a single word the professor said.
My heart pounded. Not because I was scared. Not because I regretted it.
It felt like collapsing after running farther than my body could take.
Like pulling out a splinter that had been buried in my flesh for eighteen years.
The wound was still bleeding. But that dull ache lodged deep inside my bones—it was finally gone.
When I got back to the dorm that night, Romy was watching a TV series.
She took out one earbud when she saw me.
“Your eyes are red.”
“It’s just the wind.”
—
“There was no wind today.”
I froze for a second. Then laughed.
“Maybe it’s allergies.”
She didn’t press me. Instead, she quietly held out half a bag of sour gummies.
“I get allergies too. These always help.”
I took one and popped it into my mouth.
It was so sour I winced. But somewhere deep inside, something softened.
It wasn’t because of family.
It came from a roommate who cared enough to pretend she believed my lie.