March 19, 1944

Five men have perished in this house.

Some days, I wonder if I’ll meet my own tragic end here, too.

I’m sure my husband will be the culprit. With the stress he’s causing me, my heart is destined to give out.

We have no money.

And no other friends or family we can lean on.

We have nothing, and we are alone in our nothingness.

Teardrops stain the piece of paper on my lap from the debt collectors that proves just how little we have left.

It’s dated from two days ago, and he never thought to tell me. I found it peeking out from a stack of opened mail on the counter, along with bank statements declaring his accounts in the negative. There was nothing unordinary about the papers, yet a little voice in my head told me to look.

And my God, part of me wishes I hadn’t.

We’re in danger of losing our home. There isn’t enough money to pay our mortgage, let alone any of the utilities.

He spent almost everything. Everything.

How will we support Seraphina? Feed her, clothe her, ensure she sleeps in a warm bed? She works in a deli after school a few days a week to learn some responsibility and fund her war-tax stamps—and truthfully, to sustain her ice-cream addiction, too. But I could never ask her to pay the bills. She’s only thirteen years old, for God’s sake!

It’s not uncommon for parents to rely on their children these days— times are hard, and war is rampant—but until now, we’ve been able to shelter Sera from a lot of those hardships.

And why should she have to pay for his mistakes?

We’ve always had the security from the wealth passed down in John’s family, along with his successful bookkeeping firm, and it’s kept us more than comfortable. I never expected that he’d do something like this to us.

He spoon-fed me lavish fantasies when he courted me, and like a fool, I ate them up. He swore he’d build me a house with my odd sense of style, and he followed through with that promise because it made me happy, even at the cost of those poor men who died building it, causing society to turn their noses up at us. But he also swore that we’d surpass his grandfather’s wealth and we’d live a life of luxury beyond our dreams. He swore that one day he’d buy us a big boat and we could sail across the ocean.

So many promises, and instead . . . he went and spent it all.

My throat tightens as I recall the man who lingered outside my window yesterday. I had convinced myself he was just another lost soul, but now that I know the trouble John has gotten us into, I’m secondguessing myself.

If a man is coming onto our property, it can only mean John’s done something terrible.

As frightening as it is, I wonder if he has somehow gotten mixed up with the wrong people. And now, Sera’s and my life could be in danger.

Oh, John, what have you done?

“Mama? I’m hungry. Is there anything to eat?”

Sera’s quiet voice draws me away from my sorrows. Hurriedly, I swipe away stray tears from my cheeks and turn to face her with a bright grin. I’ve been sitting in my rocking chair at the window, trading off between staring at the piece of paper in shock and staring out the window mournfully.

“Sure, baby. You want me to whip you up some lunch?”

She smiles, and a brightness radiates from beneath her freckled cheeks.

She’s a beauty among the ashes that seem to collect in this damned home.

“Yeah. It tastes better when you make it.”

I snort. She swears that her sandwiches never taste as good as mine, even if we use the same exact ingredients. Regardless, I’ve always loved doting on her. One day, she’ll stop asking for my help, and I’m reluctant for when that day arrives.

Sera takes off toward the kitchen while I detour to the small washroom in the hallway. I reapply powder to my stained cheeks and refresh my ruby-red lipstick until not a single trace of my turmoil is to be seen.

Perfect.

My daughter will never know just how close her world is to crumbling down around her.

When I make my way back through the living room, I relish the beautiful checkered tiling that expands all the way into the kitchen. There, Sera sits at the island, her feet swinging as she focuses on her homework.

The sight immediately dulls the persistent ache in my chest.

Oh, what I wouldn’t give to feel that childlike innocence once more. Anything but Sera.

“What are you hungry for, sweet pea?” I ask as I trek into the kitchen, my house shoes clacking against the floor.

She shrugs. “I dunno.”

“How about elephant tails?” I suggest.

She pauses her homework to look up at me with a wrinkled nose. “Ew, no!”

“Panda tongue? Giraffe hooves?”

“Mom,” she whines, drawing out the syllable. A silly grin paints her face, however, and I consider my mission successful.

“Okay, fine,” I relent dramatically. “How about a turkey sandwich?”

“Yes, please,” she says, her cheeky grin widening.

“Or . . .” I pause. “Turkey feet?”

She sighs theatrically, as thirteen-year-old girls do, and I turn to the fridge to grab the ingredients, though my smile quickly fades beneath the artificial light. How much longer will she be able to eat so freely rather than wonder when her next meal will be?

Pushing it from my mind, I paste a grin back on my face and begin prepping her sandwich. It’s a requirement that I cut off the crust from each slice of bread before the turkey, cheese, and mustard go on.

“Daddy said we’re getting a new car and he’ll let me drive it,” Sera announces casually.

I pause, the knife in my hand poised just above the bread.

“What?” I ask breathlessly, my heart having vacated my chest.

“Yeah,” she chirps. “He said we’re going to be super rich, and he’ll buy me the Cord 812.”

I blink, forcing myself to focus on slicing the bread rather than my trembling fingers. Sera knows nothing about cars, but my husband sure does, and I’ve heard him talk about that specific car frequently. It’s one of his many dream automobiles, and now he’s gone and made sure that it will stay a dream.

Bastard.

“Did he, now?” I question, forcing a serenity that I don’t feel into my tone.

“Yup!”

I finish with both slices before I can find the breath to ask, “And when did he say this was happening?”

She shrugs for a second time. “Didn’t say.”

It feels as if a rock has formed in my throat, and anger slowly pollutes my bloodstream.

How dare he make such grandiose promises when we’re on the brink of homelessness? And to Sera, of all people! I could forgive him for getting my hopes up but certainly not my little girl’s.

“Well, that’s something Daddy and I will have to talk about. Maybe something a little safer once you’re older? How about a Dodge?”

Her nose wrinkles again. “That sounds boring. Like an old-people car. You should drive that jalopy.”

I scoff and hand her the plate with the sandwich atop, complete with a handful of potato chips. “I’ll have you know, I am still young and beautiful, little girl.”

She giggles around a bite of food while I struggle to keep my smile plastered on my face.

“You are, Mama.”

My heart eases a fraction, and I walk around the island to place a soft kiss on her head.

“Love you, sweet pea.”

“Love you, too.” Her words are garbled, but this time, I don’t berate her for talking with food in her mouth.

I’m not sure how much longer she’ll have that luxury.