The Family Origin

Chapter Thirty-Nine: JOSEPH POV

I promised Maisie I would speak to Miles about the murders, but I was never sober enough to confront him. We never discussed the deaths, but Miles transitioned into someone new. He no longer seemed on high-alert, and he stopped talking about having to keep the family safe. Miles was not one to relax, but he was no longer carrying around so much tension. The conversation about the murders no longer seemed necessary, and I hoped Maisie saw the similar positive change in Miles. When she banged on my bedroom door, I thought her worries would be about her husband and not her daughter.

I immediately recognized Briar's odd breathing. Twelve years ago, we experienced it with our baby Victoria. Clara panicked and made me bring them to a doctor. We had little money saved, but we spent all that we had on medicine. Despite all that we did, Victoria died five days later. We struggled emotionally, and the financial burden made everything worse.

I confronted the doctor after Victoria's death and his answer was blunt: sometimes babies die.

My heart ached when I listened to Maisie's voice tremble with fear as she clung to her daughter. It was like I was watching Clara cry over Victoria again. I knew what was going to happen to my granddaughter.

She was going to die.

Sometimes babies die.

We barely had enough money to afford food. If we spent all we had on pointless medication, we would be hungry. Even if Briar's breathing improved, we would all starve. In Maisie's emotional state, I could not explain all of this. She would not understand.

Luckily, Briar's breathing returned to normal when Miles came inside. He had a soft spot for Maisie, especially when she was crying, so I was afraid he would agree to bring Briar to a doctor. I did not want to manipulate him, but I needed to remind him of his paranoia. If I reminded him that he thought the outside world would hurt his family, he would refuse to bring Briar to a doctor.

Maisie's cries and pleas as Miles dragged her out of the room echoed in my ears. Guilt was eating away at my mind, and no amount of whiskey made me feel better. Through the thin walls, I could hear her cry for what felt like hours. I could not understand what she was saying, but I predicted she was begging Miles to bring Briar to a doctor. They never left their room, so reminding Miles of his paranoia must have worked.

I was unable to fall asleep, and I did not want to see Maisie in the morning. She would probably continue her begging. I loved my granddaughter, but I had to stand strong on my decision. She was sick, and we could not waste our resources on pointless things.

I left the house two hours before Miles and Maisie usually woke up. Grabbing the bottle of whiskey, I stumbled out of the house, locked the door, and escaped to the barn. I moved through the dark, dragging my fingers across the wall to help guide myself. A mixture of exhaustion and alcohol caused my knees to wobble. I pressed my back against the wall and slid to the ground. I sighed, closed my eyes, and rolled my head against the wall.

Something nudged my foot, and when I opened my eyes I was no longer in darkness. The sun was bright and pouring through the cracks in the roof, and Miles was towering over me with his arms crossed over his chest. A horrible taste filled my mouth, and it felt like hundreds of insects were crawling across my skin. I wiped my hands over my arms, but there was nothing on my skin. The excessive alcohol from last night was causing me to suffer. I yawned and rubbed my hands across my face.

"Maisie did not sleep," Miles said. "She watched Briar all night."

"Maisie is emotional," I said. My voice was rough and scratchy like I had swallowed a handful of rocks. "She'll be her usual self soon."

"What if there is something wrong with Briar?"

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to scream, cry, and confess to Miles that I knew Briar was sick. My precious little granddaughter was going to die, and there was nothing we could do. If I told Miles, they would have us spend our remaining money on useless attempts to save her life. In the end, we would all starve. We would all die. I did so much to save this family. It could not end like this.

"How does Briar look to you?" I asked.

"She looks the same," he said.

"Exactly," I said. "She is fine. Maisie will get over these worries."

Miles did not say anything. He continued to stare down at me with his arms crossed and his blank stare. Did he believe what I was saying? Was he planning on caving into Maisie's pleas to bring Briar to a doctor? I was his Father. Why could I not understand what goes on inside his mind?

"I hate the crying," he said. "I don't want to listen to all the crying."

"Then don't let her cry. It's not good to let her be so emotional. You need to be more stern. You have gotten soft with her." I chuckled as I shook my head. The words were absurd. "Whoever thought you would be soft?"

Miles did not react to my laughing. The alcohol caused a hazy cloud in my mind. I looked for the bottle I had brought to the barn, but there was nothing near me on the ground. Did Miles pour out my whiskey before waking me? It was my last bottle, and I would not be able to afford any more. I wanted the next couple of weeks in a drunken blur. I did not want to remember anything that was going to happen, but I was going to be forced to be sober.

I looked up at Miles. He still had not moved, and stared down at me with that damn expression. He used his size to tower over me in an attempt to intimidate me. I scoffed at the thought, but Miles still did not move. A mixture of the alcohol and guilt were causing anger to bubble in my chest.

"I brought you a wife," I said, the cold edge coming into my voice. "I am the one who gave you all of this, so don't look down at me. You would not have Maisie or Briar without me. If you want to keep them, you better start listening to me. You're in charge of your family, so do it right. You're scared of other people hurting your family, but you're hurting them yourself. You need to sort Maisie out so that she doesn't let her emotions take over."

"You're drunk," he said.

"But I am not lying," I said. "You have to control Maisie. You need to teach her what is right and what is wrong. You need to give her rules."

"You want me to hurt her?"

I groaned as I ran my fingers through my hair. I did not want Maisie to get hurt, but she could not continue her crying. It would make it even more difficult for us to cope with Briar's death when it happens. We had to control her before she got worse.

"You're not hurting her," I said. "You're punishing her. It is a lesson."

Miles remained quiet, but I noticed a small movement. He curled his fingers into his biceps. His knuckles turned white as he stared down at me. I licked my dry lips as my craving for a drink grew stronger. Taking another quick look at the ground, I could not see my bottle anywhere. What did Miles do with my bottle?

"We don't have money for whiskey," Miles said. "We are never buying alcohol again."

I muttered a curse as I rubbed my temple.

"That's a rule," Miles said. "We're not wasting money on alcohol anymore."

Miles did not elaborate before storming out of the barn.