“Oh, Mom, he’s adorable,” I smile, staring lovingly at the baby’s soft blue eyes. “His hair is like gold, Mom, and his eyes like the pond at Grandpa's farm.”

   Mom nods, smiling. Edgar stands by her side and grins. “Yup, he’s a pretty fella. It’s nice to finally have a kid with some color in the house, ain’t it?”

   Mother tries to ignore the remark and keep smiling. I scowl and look down at my long, sandy locks and the sandy eyes that stare back at me in my reflection on the shiny tile of the kitchen counter.

   Even my skin is sandy, a caramel-like color but a bit lighter. I look back at the baby, whose skin is like snow and whose eyes are like pond water and whose hair is like gold. Edgar is right, but I just wish he wouldn’t rub it in my face like that.

   Those colors aren’t even his. He has dark hair that is starting to gray (and a scraggly beard that Mom’s been asking him to shave for days), dull blue eyes, skin that is dry and peeling from his sunburns... He looks like worn-out jeans. The gold hair of the baby is like my mother’s, and the brightness in his eyes is like my mother’s, and the glow of his skin is like my mother’s. Every one of his features screams Mom. Not Edgar.

  Hudson is the baby's name. Mom says she always loved the name Hudson. Almost as much as she loved the name Claire. Now her favorite names are finally both in use.

   “So, whattaya say I drop the kid off at your mother’s and we go out to my parents’ place and show off our new member? We can even bring Bruce, if he feels like getting up.”

   “Why can’t I go?” I start, already upset at the title ‘kid’. “You’re letting your dog go—”

   Edgar cuts me off. “You really needa learn to stop complaining. Otherwise, you’re gonna wind up in big trouble. Got that, kid?”

   I scowl. I don’t see what Mother sees in Edgar. He’s arrogant. He's careless. You can tell that just by listening to him speak, shortening words because he thinks it makes him look cooler. Even his dog is arrogant! I just hope that the baby doesn’t grow up to be like Edgar.

   “Claire, angel, would you like to go to Grandma’s?” Mom asks, smiling and cooing at the baby falling asleep in her arms, her voice soft and kind.

   “The kid doesn’t have a choice,” Edgar spits. “I already said she ain’t comin’ with us!”

   “But Eddie,” Mother starts, “She’s nearly fifteen. She’s no longer a child. I think she is mature enough to come along. Besides, I’m sure your parents wouldn’t mind—”

   “SHUT UP!” Edgar roars. “I said no, and that means no!”

   I feel my chest tightening. “I’m not even your daughter! You can’t control me! Mom is the only one that can decide what I do! And I’m a human being, you know, not a—” The force of the swing of his rough hand against my cheek is so strong that I fall to the floor. I hear Mother gasp and the baby cry after being disrupted from his slumber by my shriek.

   Edgar breathes heavily and turns to my mother. “One more word out of her and she won’t even be goin’ to Grandma’s. She’ll be locked up in the smallest room in this house and learn her lesson, that ungrateful little brat.” He turns back to me. “Shut up and stop sniffling. Like your ma said, you’re almost eight. Learn to control yourself.”

   I stay on the floor, afraid to move. Edgar doesn’t let Mother even look my way. When they leave, he slams the door. The last thing I see is Mother’s helpless face, stealing a glance at me from the doorway. Then I hear yelling.

   After several minutes, when I am certain he’s gone, I sit upright. My head is dizzy and I can taste a little bit of blood that I’m guessing is from the same source of the throbbing pain on my left cheek.

   Is this why the baby had to be kept in the hospital for all these months? Mom says he was born early, but I have a feeling that there’s more to it that maybe Mother doesn’t even know.

   Five months. Five months is too long to be in a hospital just for being born early.

   There is something wrong with Edgar. There is something very wrong with Edgar.

  I sensed something from the start, from the first time I met him. He had this tense air to him, this power... I didn't like it. But what could I do? I was barely thirteen at the time. When he proposed to my  mother, I was even excited. But as soon as Hudson came along, things started to go downhill. For one, I was tired of being treated of less value than his dog. The other, I was tired of his attitude, of his disrespect towards my mother and I.  I still am tired of it.

   Having never been alone in the house, I tip-toe up the stairs to the bathroom, flicking on the water and gradually filling up the tub. When the warmth of the water reaches my fingertips at the very top of the tub, I turn the water off and step in, right in my clothes, letting the liquid calm my nerves and chilled skin.

  I feel the burning sensations in my legs as the water touches my scarred flesh, the sharp stings as I sit down and the bruises on my back push slightly against the back of the tub.

  As I sit there, slowly soaking, a sight flashes across my mind. It's of Hudson, of his backside when Mom was changing him.

  He had a bruise right on the middle of his back. When I saw it, I didn't think much of the mark because it wasn't too visible, but now, as I really thought about it, I started to feel more and more sick.

   When I jump out of the bathtub, slipping on the cold floor, and run to the toilet to let out all of the fear and lunch in my stomach, I realize what I have to do. I have to call the police. And that's exactly what I do.

  "9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

   I gulp, trying to rid of the tense ball in my throat. "I'd-I'd like to report my stepfather for child abuse," I say, once again feeling a burn as tears come in contact with the fresh mark on my left cheek.

  I never thought I would say these words.

  As I speak to the woman on the other end of the phone, I catch a familiar clicking sound from the front door. Eyes wide, I frantically run back into the bathroom, locking the door.

   "The police will be on their way soon," the woman informs me, and before she can say anything else, I thank her and end the call. I tip-toe out of the bathroom and down the stairs, my hands shaking like they usually do when I'm scared.

   "Kid, why aren't you sleepin'?! Do you need me to sing you a lullaby, Miss I'm-Almost-Fifteen?" Edgar sneers. I shake my head no and he chuckles, slinging the baby carrier carelessly onto the counter, revealing a sleeping Hudson.

  "Where's Mom?" I demand, crossing my arms to hide my shaking hands. The police should be here any minute.

   "You thought you could call the police on me, huh?" Edgar lets out a dark chuckle. "Nice try, disrespectful little brat. I told them about your mental problems and hallucinations. There isn't any child abuse in this household." That arrogant liar!!!

   I purse my lips together and bite the insides of my cheeks until I taste the familiar metallic-like blood on my tongue, silently cursing. The police aren't coming. It takes a moment for it to sink in.

   I hear the creak of the door opening again as Mom breathlessly opens the door. Just from the look of her eyes you could tell she's exhausted.

   "Why did you make me walk, Eddie?" She asks, her voice weak and helpless. How come I only noticed this part of her today?

   "Shut up. You're all so loud," Edgar mumbles under his breath, huffing. I glance at the open door, at my tired mother, at the baby carrier on the counter, at the heavy stools at the table behind me. Without thinking, I grab a chair and swing it at Edgar's head. He falls with a relieving clunk!.

   "Mom, I'll take Hudson. We have to leave," I order, my tone stern but soft. I take the baby carrier in one hand and link my other with Mom's arm, gently tugging her out of the house and into the moon-lit night.

   Once we're several blocks away from the house, I phone the police again. They come within a matter of minutes, picking us up and driving us to the police station. As we drive, I take a long look at my mother's weary eyes, the way she slouches in exhaustion. Why did it take so long for us to do this? Why is it that today, after all these years, we get to escape?

   I look over at my baby brother's innocent face, at how peaceful he seems. I tell my mother to rest. I tell her that she's allowed to now. There's no Edgar to stop her.

   I vow to never let this happen again, to rid of every ounce of oblivion in my system. I make it my responsibility to care for my mother and brother.

   I am no longer a young child. I am almost fifteen.