Stan stared at the dark TV screen like he couldn’t quite process what had just happened. Then he laughed—a short, dismissive sound that made my skin crawl.

“Relax,” he said. “They were junk. The kid has too much stuff anyway.”

I felt something cold spread through my chest.

“They weren’t junk,” I said carefully. “They were hers. Why would you do that without asking me?”

He shrugged, picking up his controller. “I’m trying to establish order. Discipline. You let her run the house.”

I took the controller out of his hands and placed it on the table.

“She’s seven,” I said. “And this is her home.”

His jaw tightened. “It’s our home now. And I’m not going to marry into chaos.”I stared at him, suddenly seeing a stranger where my fiancé had been.

“Go get the toys,” I said. “Right now.”

He rolled his eyes. “They’ve been sitting in filth for hours. She’ll survive.”

That was when I knew this wasn’t about toys.I walked past him without another word and went back outside. I didn’t think. I just started pulling trash bags open, ignoring the smell, the dirt, the humiliation of my neighbors possibly watching. Dolls with missing shoes. Stuffed animals with matted fur. A puzzle Ember and her dad used to do together on weekends.

Behind me, I heard the door open.

Stan stood there, arms crossed. “You’re undermining me in front of her.”“Undermining you?” I repeated.

“Yes,” he said sharply. “She needs to learn that when I make a decision, it stands. If you keep rescuing her, she’ll never respect me.”

Something in his tone—cold, proprietary—made my stomach twist.

“Respect?” I said. “She’s a child, not an employee.”