The story of a little girl called June

Chapter 3: piece by piece

After that night, June’s mother never spoke to her husband’s mother again. Whatever hope she'd clung to had been shattered beyond repair. From that day on, she learned to endure in silence — not out of weakness, but out of strategy. Words had only brought more bruises. Silence, at least, gave her time to plan.

And she did.

Piece by piece, quietly and carefully, she began moving her children out of the storm.

First, she sent Jayden — her eldest son — to her own mother’s house in the countryside. It was a decision heavy with sorrow, but her mother had always told her, "Leave him. Take your children and leave that man." She never listened. Not fully. But this time, she listened enough to save one.

Then she sent Mo — her eldest daughter — to the university. She’d already completed college, and her admission to a prestigious program couldn’t wait. June’s mother packed her bags, gave her what little she could, and sent her off with prayers and quiet tears.

It was only June and little Kayden now.

She hadn't asked her husband’s permission for any of it.

That evening, he came home, slamming the door like the wind owed him something. He dropped his shoes in the middle of the living room and looked around with a sneer.

“Where’s Mo and Jayden?” he asked, his voice flat but laced with suspicion.

June’s mother didn’t flinch. She stood straight and spoke with calm resolve.

“I sent Mo to the university. Her arrival time was due, and it couldn’t wait. And I took Jayden to my mother’s place — she asked to keep him for a while. He’s going to school there now. I’ll be sending her the money for his tuition.” Then, almost like a shield, she added, “Don’t worry — I won’t use your money.”

He stared at her for a long second, eyes bleary.

He grunted. “No problem then. As long as I’m not paying for anything, it’s okay.”

June had been hiding near the hallway, her small frame pressed to the wall. Her body was trembling — it always did when he walked in with that heaviness in his steps, that smell of alcohol that clung to him like sweat. She didn’t know why she was afraid — he hadn’t even looked at her. But fear didn’t always need a reason.

Kayden, only a toddler, noticed. His sister was shivering, and that scared him. He began to cry.

Their father turned toward the sound, scoffing.

“Oh, attend to him,” he muttered. “He takes after you anyway. Always crying over nothing.”

June’s mother stepped in quickly and scooped Kayden into her arms. She whispered softly, patting his back in slow, calming circles until his cries quieted and he drifted off to sleep. The baby’s breathing steadied in her arms, but June could feel her mother’s own exhaustion clinging to her skin like sweat.

Their father didn’t say another word. He staggered to the couch, collapsed onto it like dead weight, and was snoring within minutes. The entire room smelled of sweat and stale beer.

June covered her nose with her shirt sleeve. She wanted to vanish.

Her mother gently took her by the hand and led her into the bedroom. There wasn’t much — just one small, creaky bed where Kayden now slept peacefully.

She tucked him in gently, then motioned for June to lie down beside him.

Her mother didn’t sleep in the bed. She curled up on a thin mat on the floor, knees drawn to her chest, her hand resting just near her daughter’s fingers, like a promise she couldn’t say out loud.

June stared at the ceiling.

She didn’t cry. Not tonight.

Her heart felt too heavy, too tired, too old for her age.

But even in that silence, her young mind was slowly learning — this wasn’t what love looked like.

This wasn’t what home was supposed to feel like.