PART 2
An hour later, the kitchen counters were covered with groceries.
Nicholas had gone to the store and bought chicken, steaks, cheese, milk, fresh fruit, eggs, bread, and even the chocolates Sophia had stared at for months without ever daring to ask for.
Then he took them to a diner. Sophia ate chicken noodle soup, a burger, fries, and a slice of chocolate cake. When she finished half the cake, she carefully wrapped the rest in a paper napkin.
“What are you doing, sweetie?” Nicholas asked softly.
“Saving it for Mom.”
“Order another slice for your mom,” Nicholas said, his jaw tightening.
“What about tomorrow?” Sophia whispered.
Nicholas went completely still. “Tomorrow there will be food too. I promise.”
Sophia lowered her head and started crying in quiet, shuddering breaths.
Next, they bought Sophia a thick red winter coat and sturdy new boots.
When they returned to the house, they found Teresa, Victor’s mother, standing in the kitchen. She had her own spare key. She had opened the full refrigerator and was frowning at the shelves.
“What is all this?” Teresa asked.
“I bought it,” Nicholas replied flatly.
Teresa glanced at the bruise on Alice’s face and sighed. “You made my son angry again, didn’t you, Alice? Victor works hard all day to keep a roof over your head.”
Nicholas answered without raising his voice, but his tone was razor-sharp. “When I walked in this morning, there were three eggs and a stale piece of bread in this house. My sister and her daughter were starving.”
“This is my son’s house,” Teresa snapped.
“And she is my sister.”
Teresa glared at him, grabbed her purse, and stormed out.
Forty minutes later, Nicholas’s cell phone rang. It was Victor, calling from Alice’s phone, which he had confiscated before leaving.
“Hey, man,” Victor said smoothly over the speaker. “Don’t listen to anything Alice tells you. She’s completely dramatic. I’ll be back tonight and we can talk like men.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Nicholas said, and hung up.
That evening, Alice brought out her hidden notebook. Nicholas slowly turned through the grid pages. Four years of documentation: stolen money, seized paychecks, beatings, threats, and damaged household items.
“This isn’t just a diary,” Nicholas said, looking up at her. “This is evidence.”
Alice lowered her eyes to her hands. “I was terrified no one would believe me.”
“I believe you.”
Over the next hour, Nicholas asked unusual, specific questions. What time did Victor normally come home? Where did Alice stand when she heard his truck arrive? What was the first thing he complained about?
“The bucket,” Alice answered.
The house had poor plumbing in the utility nook, so dirty dishwater drained into a heavy plastic bucket that Alice carried outside to the yard by hand. Victor hated seeing it full.
“Don’t empty it tonight,” Nicholas instructed.
At 10:15 PM, tires crunched over the gravel driveway. Victor was back, reeking of alcohol.
“Take Sophia into the bedroom,” Nicholas told Alice quietly.
Then Nicholas picked up Alice’s long brown bathrobe and the gray knit shawl she wore when stepping outside. He put them on. From behind in the dim hallway, his silhouette looked remarkably like his sister’s.
Alice realized what he intended a second too late.
The back door slammed open. “That damn bucket is full again!” Victor bellowed.
Nicholas didn’t move.
Victor took two heavy steps into the hallway. “Two days away and you can’t do one simple thing right.” Another step. “Where’s your big-shot captain brother? Is he sleeping already?”
Nicholas remained bent over the bucket.
“Turn around when I’m talking to you!” Victor yelled, raising his hand to strike.
Nicholas spun around at the exact moment Victor swung, caught Victor’s wrist in a vise grip, and swept his leg out.
Victor lost his balance completely.
With a heavy splash, Victor landed flat on his rear right inside the bucket of dirty, soapy dishwater. Cold water, food scraps, and vegetable peels flew across the floor.
Victor frantically tried to get up, but the bucket was stuck to his backside and lifted with him before he slipped on the wet floor and crashed down again.
“Alice! Get this damn thing off me!” Victor roared.
Then the shawl slipped from Nicholas’s head.
Victor stared up at the high-and-tight military haircut, the stubble, and the cold, unyielding eyes fixed on him.
Victor blinked, utterly bewildered. “Alice… why did you shave your head?”
From inside the bedroom, a tiny giggle escaped. Sophia covered her mouth, but the muffled laughter echoed down the hallway.
Nicholas looked down at the man who had terrorized his sister for four years.
“Good evening, Victor,” Nicholas said with absolute calmness. “You said you wanted to talk to me like men.”
And for the first time in ten years, Victor realized that no one in that house was afraid of him anymore.
