Free Splintered by Kelly Miller

person he professed to love most in the world. After the two married, the verbal abuse didn’t stop. It simply went underground as Maddy grew older.
    Lily made excuses for Tom, constantly extolled his virtues as a parent. As if being Father of the Year gave him a pass for being a bastard of a husband. Emma had tried to hang on to her friendship with Lily, out of a sense of loyalty, but eventually she started making excuses to avoid spending time with Lily when Tom would be home. After a while, it became difficult to even be around her.
    It was as if Lily was a drowning woman desperately trying to grab on to anything around her to keep afloat. Ultimately, it was too hard for Emma to keep pulling her up. Lily wouldn’t take advice, refused to fix her situation. Her problems always came first, and eventually Emma couldn’t rely on her anymore. Emma had to break away from the sinking relationship before Lily ultimately dragged them both under.
    How can I be there more for Maddy without letting myself get sucked into Lily’s life again?

PART 3
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 23

(14)
HANK FRY
    Hank grabbed a sheet of sandpaper off the workbench in his garage. He hoped the repetitive motion of manually smoothing wood might help to quiet his thoughts. He wanted to lose himself in the scratching noise as he ground down rough edges with the gritty paper.
    Even though it was the middle of the week, Hank had the day off. He would work the next two nights—Thursday and Friday evenings. A day and a half of free time seemed like plenty to finish the armoire he’d been building for a local store that sold his pieces for a commission. He used to make good money selling his work, but it seemed to him these days people preferred cheap furniture they could slap together in under an hour. In today’s disposable society, if something broke, no big deal, just buy another. Rarely did people search for that one-of-a-kind piece, a family heirloom to hand down to their kids.
    Hank had gotten up early that morning, hoping to jump start before Daniel woke up. Quiet times like these, when the rest of the world was still sleeping, seemed to be the only time he felt at peace. When he could push ugly thoughts away and fully engage himself in a project.
    He’d learned carpentry skills from his dad. The few times the old man wasn’t being an asshole, he had managed to impart some useful information. Hank could hear him now: “Not every man has the patience to build something with his own two hands, son. It takes discipline and focus to take a hunk of wood and transform it into something else. Remember, you have to be meticulous in your planning or the project will come out all wrong. Ever seen a table that wasn’t level?”
    Hank knew not to answer. When his dad felt like sharing, it was best to simply listen.
    “Once, I saw an orange roll right off a sloping table. Now tell me, son, how can a man be proud of something like that? Answer is, he can’t.”
    Hank soon surpassed his dad’s woodworking skills. When he was twelve, he made a birdhouse for his mom’s birthday. He’d worked on the piece for weeks, thoughtfully overseeing every detail. It had been crafted out of oak, and he’d given it a honey-colored finish. He planned on setting it up outside the kitchen window so when his mom washed dishes, she’d always be able to see the gift.
    When Hank eagerly showed off the birdhouse to his dad, he’d seen envy dance in the old man’s eyes. His dad grabbed it out of Hank’s hands, turned it over and over until he finally found the flaw he’d been searching for—a spot where the finish had slightly bubbled. His dad threw the birdhouse on the ground and stomped it to pieces. He could hear the old man now, the gruffness in his voice. He always sounded like he’d just woken up from a weekend bender with a dry mouth that made it hard to speak. “Inferior work won’t cut it, son. You have to work harder and smarter than everyone else to get ahead. The