Annie frowned at him with the innocent, painful confusion of a child who had never known security.
“Money?” she asked softly.
“Mom never receives any money, Daddy, and we don’t live in the house anymore.”
Victor rose to his feet, his legs heavy as stone as he looked down at the small, fragile child in front of him.
“Don’t tell me that, baby, because I send it every month so you can live like royalty,” he insisted, clinging to the breaking edges of his denial.
Annie hugged the tray of bread closer to her chest, lowering her eyes as she spoke the words that would haunt him forever.
“Grandma Maris kicked us out of our home while you were away on that business trip to the coast,” she murmured.
“Mom cried for weeks, and ever since then, we have been living in a tiny, rotted basement apartment in the slums of Northside.”
