The second was her stepmother's voice.
"Get down there, you ungrateful little brat. If you're hungry enough, you'll eat what's in front of you."
Amelia stumbled as Vanessa Carter grabbed her forearm and pulled her away from the dining room. Her bare feet slipped against the polished floor, and the faded pink shirt she had been wearing for two days twisted beneath the woman's fingers. The little girl tried to steady herself against the wall, but Vanessa gave another impatient tug.
"Please," Amelia whispered. "I just want some dinner."
"You should have thought about that before you started asking questions."
Vanessa was thirty-five years old, beautiful in the expensive, carefully constructed way that made strangers turn their heads when she entered a room. Her long blonde hair fell smoothly over a burgundy silk blouse, and a delicate gold necklace rested against her collarbone. Her makeup was flawless, her nails freshly polished, and her expression carried the cold confidence of someone who believed nobody present would dare challenge her.
Her husband was supposed to be in Chicago for seven days.
He had left the Connecticut house forty-eight hours earlier, kissed Amelia goodbye, and promised to call every evening. Vanessa had stood beside him in the driveway, waving with the perfect smile of a devoted wife who would take excellent care of his daughter.
The moment his car disappeared around the corner, that smile had vanished.
Now, two days later, Amelia knelt beside the feeding station of Biscuit, the family's golden retriever, while the smell of roasted chicken drifted from the dining room.
Her stomach hurt so badly that she could barely stand straight.
The last proper meal she remembered eating was breakfast on the morning her father left.
Since then, Vanessa had given her a few crackers, half a banana, and water, insisting that the little girl was being punished for lying, wasting food, and disrespecting adults.
Amelia didn't understand what she had done wrong.
She had asked to call her father.
That was all.
Vanessa had told her he was too busy.
When Amelia asked again, Vanessa took away her tablet.
When the little girl cried, the woman sent her upstairs.
And when Amelia crept into the kitchen that afternoon searching for something to eat, Vanessa announced that children who behaved like animals could learn what it meant to eat like one.
Now the punishment had become a performance.
Beyond the kitchen doorway, three adults sat around an expensive walnut dining table, eating from white porcelain plates.
Vanessa's mother, Diane Monroe, occupied the seat closest to the window. Her carefully styled blonde hair and pearl earrings gave her the appearance of a respectable woman attending a family dinner. Beside her sat Vanessa's younger brother, Trevor, a thirty-one-year-old man who spent more time discussing business opportunities than earning money from them.
Across from Trevor sat Lauren Price, one of Vanessa's longtime friends.
Lauren had arrived expecting a pleasant evening.
She had not expected to watch a child being dragged toward a dog's food bowl.
When Vanessa first ordered Amelia away from the table, Lauren had looked uncomfortable. When the little girl explained that she hadn't eaten properly, Lauren had started to rise.
Diane stopped her with a quiet warning.
"Don't interfere. Vanessa is teaching her some discipline."
Lauren had remained seated.
It was a decision she would regret for years.
In the kitchen, Amelia stared at the steel bowl.
Brown kibble filled the bottom.
A few pieces had spilled onto the blue feeding mat.
Biscuit sat several feet away, his golden ears slightly lowered, watching the girl with the confused attention of an animal that recognized distress but could not understand its cause.
Amelia reached toward him.
"Biscuit."
The dog stood and moved closer.
He nudged her shoulder gently with his nose.
She wrapped one small arm around his neck.
For two days, Biscuit had been the only living creature in the house who seemed happy to see her.
Vanessa crossed her arms.
"Stop playing with the dog."
Amelia looked up.
"Please, can I have some chicken?"
Vanessa laughed without humor.
"Chicken?"
The little girl nodded.
"Just a little."
"You think you're entitled to everything, don't you?"
Amelia shook her head quickly.
"No, ma'am."
"Your father has spoiled you rotten."
The girl lowered her eyes.
Vanessa stepped forward and kicked the stainless-steel bowl across the feeding mat.
It scraped loudly against the floor, stopping inches from Amelia's knees.
Several pieces of kibble scattered onto the tile.
"There. Dinner."
Amelia stared.
Her lips trembled.
"That's Biscuit's food."
Vanessa leaned closer.