Protected by Her Daddy (Daddy’s Good Girl)

1. Wren

Chapter 1

Wren

The library lights flicker as I gather my books and stuff them into my backpack. This is my last semester at Clark Community College, with its modern classrooms, labs, libraries, and student services buildings. Thanks to the first-dollarprogram, the tuition fees for my associate business degree are covered, leaving me free to put the additional financial aid I receive toward other materials.

In a few more months, I’ll have my degree. Then the plan is to get a full-time job. Working part-time at the diner is the only thing keeping us above the poverty line. Barely. I arrive every morning at 5 AM and serve breakfast to the regulars before heading to classes. After school, I return to the diner until 8 PM and then put in a few hours of study at the college library.

I check the cracked screen of my phone. It’s late, almost 11 PM, and the campus is starting to empty. I should've left an hour ago, but this is the only time I can get any real studying done.I’m exhausted. Four hours of sleep every night is catching up with me, but I can’t afford to waste time in bed, tempting as it is. Sleep is a luxury.

Mrs. Campbell, the librarian, gives me a kind smile as she turns off the last row of lights. “Good night, Wren.”

“Good night, Mrs. Campbell,” I reply, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. Heavy with textbooks, it weighs me down, but not as much as the anxiety of going home does.

The school library is the one place I find solace. Mrs. Campbell’s warm smile, the musty smell of old books, the whisper of pages turning—it's a different universe to the chaos of home.

Outside, the autumn air bites at my exposed skin. I pull my jacket tighter, my breath steaming in the chilly night. The campus is eerily quiet at this hour, the usual daytime chatter replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustle of leaves. The walk home is only fifteen minutes, but each step feels like a mile, and I dread what I might find when I get there.

And each step brings unwelcome memories. The time Gregory stole my money to buy booze, the nights he screamed at Mom until she cried, and the days he spent drinking away our grocery money. Or snorting it up his nose.

As I walk, my mind wanders to the past few days. Assignments piling up, endless shifts at the diner, and the constant worry about money. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to have a typical family and parents who cared. Filled with love and laughter instead of anger and fear. But those are dreams, and reality is harsher.

I pass by a row of well-kept houses, each one proudly displaying fall decorations. Pumpkins with carved grins, wreaths made of autumn leaves, and warm porch lights invite memories of a different time, a happier time. A pang of jealousy hits me—it’s been years since I felt festive or safe. I increase my pace, hoping the chill in the air will numb the ache in my heart.

Sirens blaring in the distance make me flinch. It's probably nothing, another sign of the city’s chaos, but they set my nerves on edge .

My house appears in the distance, a stark contrast to the cheerful homes I passed earlier. My home is small and run-down, reflecting years of neglect. The exterior is faded and peeling, with a weed-infested lawn and broken fence. The inside isn’t any better: dimly lit with clutter in every corner, a physical manifestation of the chaos within our lives.

Gregory’s car is in the driveway, a beat-up Honda that hasn't seen a carwash in years. I clutch the straps of my backpack tightly, bracing myself. Every night is a gamble—will Gregory be passed out, or will he be waiting, angry and volatile?

I push the door open as quietly as I can. The living room is dimly lit, the TV casting flickering shadows on the stained walls. Empty beer bottles clutter the coffee table, and the smell of stale cigarettes hangs in the air.

Our house used to be warm and inviting, filled with the aroma of Mom’s cooking and the sound of laughter. Now, it’s like a tomb, each corner harboring the ghost of happier times. Every inch of this house holds a memory—some bearable, most painful. The living room, with its old, stained furniture and scattered remnants of better days, is a testament to how far we’ve fallen. The worst parts are the reminders of what used to be, like the family photos now faded and gathering dust. Dad's smiling face stares out from one, so different from the somber reality we live in now.

Dad died when I was six. Mom may as well have died with him because she checked out of life in every way that mattered.

I navigate the piles of laundry and empty bottles and head for the stairs. Each step is a minor victory, a testament to my will to survive in this hostile environment.

“Wren, that you?” Gregory calls from the kitchen.

I don't answer, hoping to slip up to my room unnoticed. I grip the worn banister as I start upstairs, each tread creaking under my weight. But before I make it halfway up, I hear another voice from the kitchen—one that sends chills down my spine.

I hesitate, my heart pounding. What is Jerry doing here so late? The man makes my skin crawl with his greased-back hair and wandering eyes. He always carries a briefcase and wears wrinkled suits, like some kind of high-flying exec.

I keep moving, inching closer to my sanctuary.

“Where are you going, Wren?”

I freeze as Gregory's heavy, uneven steps start toward the stairs. His frame fills the bottom of the staircase, a sneer plastered on his face, his eyes bloodshot.

“Get down here. Now.”

Gregory's presence has always cast a long, dark shadow over our lives. My fists clench instinctively as he starts up the stairs toward me. My stomach churns, but I force myself to turn. The air feels thick and suffocating as I descend. Gregory always seems more threatening when Jerry's around, and tonight is no different.

Jerry sits at the kitchen table, leaning back in his chair with his signature sleazy grin. I swallow hard, trying to muster some courage.

Gregory motions for me to sit. I ignore him, choosing to stand, poised to bolt. “We need to have a talk,” he says, his voice dangerously smooth, the tone he uses when hiding something.

“What's going on?” I ask, my voice steady despite the tremor of my muscles.

“Jerry and I were just talking about you. You know we’ve been friends and business partners for years.”

Business partners? The idea of Gregory running a business is laughable. He spends his days high or drunk, and not once has he contributed financially to this household.

I look at him blankly. “What the hell has your business got to do with me?”

Gregory's face darkens as he closes the distance between us, gripping my arm painfully. “It means it’s time for you to earn your keep. It’s time to repay me for taking on you and your mom.”

I try to wrench my arm free, anger flaring despite my fear. “I don't owe you anything.”

His grip tightens as I attempt to pull away. “You're gonna do what I say,” he snarls. “We need the money.”

My stomach tightens with dread, and bile rises in my throat. “You mean you need the drugs.”

Gregory releases me, but the reprieve is brief as Jerry pushes him aside and grabs my hair, yanking my head back. Pain explodes through my scalp, but I refuse to scream. I won't give him the satisfaction.

“This has been on the cards since you were ten years old, Wren,” he snaps, his breath hot and foul against my face. “You’re a beauty, and our buyer is paying a lot of money for your virgin pussy. ”

Buyer? I shake my head, unable to fully process his words. They sell women? Girls? And now they’re selling me? Dear God, no. This is a nightmare, and I need to wake up.

“Just be grateful that Gregory still had a few morals when he married your mom. If it’d been down to me, you would’ve been auctioned off long before you were legal.” He inhales deeply as he runs his nose up my neck. “We’ve been patient, but now it’s time to play your part.”

I spit in his face. “Get the fuck away from me.”

My head whips to the side as he slaps me. His gaze moves to Gregory, hovering by the table. “You’re right. She’s a feisty little bitch. Should’ve drugged her first. Get the ropes.” His smile is chilling as he returns his attention to me. “Time to take a little trip. But don’t worry, the man we’re giving you to loves a woman who makes him fight for it.”

I whimper, pushing down the nausea. My heart pounds in my chest, the vibration echoing in my ears. This can't be happening.

“No,” I whisper, the word catching in my throat. “People w-will notice if I d-disappear. Mom. My friends at c-college.”

Jerry tips his head back at laughs. “Your mother wouldn’t know if you were alive or dead, rotting away up there in her bed. And since when do you have friends ?”

His words chill my blood because he’s right. I learned early on to keep people at a distance. No one wanted to be friends with the eight-year-old girl with holes in her clothes who smelled of lice shampoo. No one wanted to be friends with the socially awkward teenager who hid in the library and wouldn’t look anyone in the eye. By the time I got to college, I’d perfected the icy barrier that kept everyone at arm’s length.

Gregory’s gaze flickers like he might regret what he’s doing, but then it hardens again as his decision settles in. “You don’t get a choice. You don’t get to say no. Not unless you want your poor, addicted mom to suffer an unfortunate overdose.”

His words hang in the air, and dread pools in my stomach. “You fucking bastard!”

The kitchen spins as Jerry shakes me. The room closes in around me as I struggle frantically, my breath coming in panicked gasps.

“No, let me go!” I scream, but it only seems to fuel their determination.

Jerry’s fingers dig painfully into my scalp. The pain becomes blinding, but I focus on one thing—escape. His face flushes red with anger, and he slams me against the wall. I’m still wearing my backpack, which cushions some of the impact. Still, I’m sure my back will be black and blue tomorrow.

He grips my throat, digging his fingers into my windpipe. “You ungrateful little?—”

With every ounce of strength I possess, I bring my knee up sharply into Jerry’s groin. His grip loosens enough for me to break free. I don’t wait. I stumble, nearly toppling over, but somehow find my balance.

Gregory lunges, but he’s been drinking, and I’m faster. I dodge his reach, the years of pent-up fear and anger giving me a burst of speed. I slam into the front door, wrench it open, and sprint into the night.

My heart thunders in my chest and my lungs burn. I hear them behind me, but I don’t look back. I can’t. Gregory's curses and Jerry’s angry shouts fade behind me as I push my trembling limbs hard.

“You know what I’ll do to your mother if you don’t come back here right now, Wren!” Gregory shouts.

A sob catches in my throat.

How can I leave her ?

How can I not?

If I go back, my life will be over. If I don’t, hers could be.

It already is, a voice whispers.

A distant part of me wonders if Mom has even noticed the commotion or if she’s too far gone. A sob catches in my throat at the thought of her gaunt face.Every footfall triggers flashes of the arguments, the beatings, the suffocating despair of home. And now, Gregory and Jerry’s terrifying plans if they catch me.

“I’ll find you, bitch! Doesn’t matter where you go. There’s nowhere to hide! No one to save you.”

Jerry’s threats follow me like lethal predictions as I sprint along the broken pavement, his figure receding into the shadows of my mind. The distance I put between us feels like a temporary reprieve, but the fear lingers.

The neighborhood blurs as I force myself onward. I dodge through narrow alleys and leap over low fences, panting and shaking. Fatigue drags at my limbs, but I can't afford to rest yet.

I don’t stop until I'm sure I've lost them, ducking into a small park at the edge of town. Only then do I collapse behind a bench, my body trembling. The adrenaline starts to wear off, the cold night seeping into my bones. A solitary street lamp casts a sickly yellow glow over the deserted park. The swings creak softly in the wind, ghostly reminders of a simpler time.

I glance around, half-expecting Gregory’s or Jerry’s shadow to appear. I think of the last time I felt safe, truly safe. Years ago, before Gregory wormed his way into our lives. Before Mom lost herself. How many times did I dream of escaping? But now that it's real, it’s terrifying.

Tears burn my eyes, but I wipe them away angrily. I won’t cry. They don't deserve my tears. Exhaustion pulls at me, but I force myself to stay alert. I don’t know what comes next, but I know one thing for certain—I’m never going back to that house.

Bits of gravel embed painfully into my backside as I sit and think of what to do next. I shake my head to clear the fear, but it tumbles back in. No one to call for help, nowhere safe to go.

I dig my fingers into the sleeves of my jacket. Every noise, every rustle sends my heart racing. I swallow hard, forcing down the panic threatening to consume me—now is not the time to fall apart.

Leaning against the cold, hard bench, I close my eyes for a moment. The weight of the day crashes over me. Somewhere far off, a car alarm screams, and a dog barks. Everyday sounds, but they seem alien, like they belong to another world.

Forcing myself back to my feet, I adjust my backpack and keep moving. Head down. One foot in front of the other, like always.

My thoughts drift to Mom. As a child, she was my rock, my safe place, but those days are long gone. Gregory's influence and her addiction eroded the strong, loving woman she once was. She’s not far enough gone to miss the signs of what Gregory has become, but she’s too far lost to do anything about it. The mom who baked cookies with me after school and sang lullabies when I was scared seems like a distant dream.

Earlier tonight, before leaving for the library, I peeked into her room. She was sprawled across the bed, empty pill bottles on her nightstand. The room reeked of neglect and despair.

I tried to rouse her, gently shaking her shoulders, but she just murmured incoherently. Hesitating in her doorway, I was torn between anger and love.

“Mom, I need you to wake up,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

Her eyes flitted open briefly, glazed and uncomprehending. “Go to work, Wren. I’ll be fine,” she slurred before slipping back into oblivion.

Perhaps I should have stayed and done more to help her. But her murmured reassurances were hollow promises. I know better now; I can’t rely on her for protection. I have to save myself.

In the quiet of the night, the enormity of what’s happened sinks in. I have nothing—less than twenty dollars in my pocket, no spare clothes, nowhere to go.

My mind is a whirlwind of confusion and fear. I need to rest, to gather my strength. Tomorrow, I'll figure out my next move. I'll find a way to survive, to carve out a place for myself in this harsh world.

I hold on to that hope, that sliver of light in the darkness. It's all I have right now, but it's enough.