Chapter 4After My Daughter Died, I Regretted Everything

That evening, Penny didn't eat dinner. She just stayed huddled in her room, refusing to come out.

My husband got back from his trip and sensed the strange atmosphere in the house. "What's wrong?" he asked me quietly. "Did Penny bomb another test?"

"Hmph! If only it were just bad grades!"

I slammed the lesson plans I was holding onto the table, furious. "Your daughter! Your precious daughter, Penny! She's started stealing money now!"

"Stealing money?"

My husband looked startled, surprised. "What happened?"

"The cash I keep in my purse for groceries went missing. I thought maybe I'd misplaced it, but Ethan saw Penny rummaging through my bag that night. Today, I checked her backpack, and sure enough, there was money inside."

"Ethan saw her?"

My husband glanced towards the living room where Ethan was watching TV. He sighed. "That doesn't necessarily mean Penny took it, does it? Did you check serial numbers? Mark the bills?"

Unlike me, my husband always felt that Penny, being naturally slower and having a stutter, needed more care and attention than our bright son. He tended to favor her more.

I knew his leanings. I shot him a glare, indignant. "Don't try to twist things! Who else could it have been? Ethan never lies! She's just trouble!"

"The cash you mentioned…"

My husband paused, then suddenly seemed to remember something. He slapped his forehead. "Was it in that black purse? The one you usually take grocery shopping?"

I nodded, confused. "Yeah, why?"

"Then you've misunderstood Penny. I took that cash."

He sighed, looking resigned. "I was rushing to the airport that day, and my phone was dead. I grabbed the small bills from your purse for cab fare."

"Are you serious?"

I eyed him suspiciously. "Then why didn't you say so earlier?"

"I just didn't think of it until now. But you really did accuse Penny wrongly this time. Think about it – finding money in her bag doesn't prove anything. What if it was her own allowance she'd saved up?"

My husband nudged me gently with his elbow, reminding me. "You need to apologize to Penny, properly. You really hurt her feelings, yelling like that when she was innocent. The poor kid must be heartbroken."

"Penny might not be as sharp as Ethan, but she's a good kid. Didn't you used to say daughters are the sweet ones, the little comforts?"

He continued gently, trying to soothe me. "You forgot, didn't you? Tomorrow's your birthday – your actual birthday, not the lunar one. Remember last year? Because you said winter winds were harsh, Penny saved her allowance all year to buy you that scarf. Maybe this money was for your birthday too."

His words jolted my memory. It was true. I always focused on my lunar birthday, often forgetting the Gregorian one. But Penny… she always quietly prepared a gift for me every year.

Most of my energy went into Ethan. I knew exactly how much he ate for every meal. But Penny? I paid so little attention to her, I'd completely forgotten these small, important details.

"She's probably asleep now. Tomorrow. I'll talk to her tomorrow."

I turned away awkwardly. The image of Penny's tear-streaked face flashed in my mind, and a pang of guilt surfaced.

I was good at lecturing kids, but apologizing? This was new territory. I didn't even know how to start. I silently decided I'd make her favorite meal tomorrow, try to make up for wrongly accusing her.

With that plan, I went to the market the next day and picked out the freshest seafood and meat. I spent the afternoon cooking Penny's favorites: shrimp scampi and sweet and sour pork ribs. My husband, hoping to mend the rift between us and celebrate my birthday, had already ordered a cake.

We sat at home, full of anticipation, waiting for Penny and Ethan to come home. But time passed, and neither of them appeared.

"What's going on? School should have been out ages ago."

I checked the clock, just about to call the school, when the sound of the front door unlocking startled us.

Ethan walked in alone, backpack slung over one shoulder. His face was pale, like he was scared of something.

"Ethan, where's your sister?"

My husband looked past him towards the empty doorway, his face hardening. "Didn't I tell you to walk home with your sister today?" he asked sharply.

Ethan's eyes darted away for a second. "I… I didn't see her," he stammered. "So I just came home."

"Maybe she went off with friends. You know how girls like to browse stationery shops after school. Don't take it out on Ethan."

I bristled at my husband's tone, about to defend Ethan further, when my cell phone suddenly rang with an unfamiliar number.

"Hello, yes, am I speaking to Penny Miller's parent?"

"Yes, this is she. What is it?"

There was a slight pause on the other end. Then, the voice said softly, "This is the City Police Department. We found Penny Miller's body in the alley near Westwood Middle School earlier this afternoon. We need you to come down to the station."