Luna Loud lay in the middle of the living room with her arms and legs spread eagle and the matted carpet tickling her wet cheek. Her chest bounced with the crazy pounding of her heart and her teeth worried a flap of dead skin on her chapped lips. Every so often, the tip of her tongue prodded the hole where her tooth had been before Sully, drunk and high, knocked it out, Her eyes went to the stack of mail next to her, and she looked pointedly away, focusing on the dirty and water-splotched ceiling so that she didn't have to think about all the bills she couldn't pay. Water, electric, rent, lot rent. She let her gaze travel around the living room. Fist shaped holes dotted the nicotine stained walls and all of the furniture was old and dingy, third and fourth hand castoffs from thrift stores and junk shops.

It had been a month since Sully walked out, and Luna's relief at having him gone had quickly turned to fear. She worked two jobs but could hardly put groceries in the fridge. The power bill was past due and the electric company was going to shut them off, her car kept breaking down, and no matter what she turned, she couldn't raise any extra money. Hers and Sully's six year old son, Lindemann, had food and clothes, but only because Mom and Dad gave her a little money here and there, never much because they didn't have anything either.

When Sully was around, she didn't have to worry as much because he'd occasionally sober up and pay at a few bills, but she also lived in dread of him coming home from the bar and beating her up again. Every night, he stumbled through the door, pissing and falling down drunk, and even if he was happy, his mood would soon sour and he'd tear the house down. Luna took a thousand kicks, punches, and shoves because she knew she couldn't do it without him, but the last time, Lindemann came out of his room, sleepy-eyed and scared, and Sully lunged at him. Luna had replayed the scene a thousand times in her head and still didn't know if Sully would really have hit him or if he was just trying to scare him off. It didn't matter now and it didn't matter then. Luna shoved him and they grappled, falling all over the living room and knocking things over. She finally got hold of a heavy steel level from Sully's tool cabinet and whacked him in the head with it. Blood gushed down his face like a crimson mask and he stumbled away.

A tiny, scared-little-girl part of her almost wished he could come back, but the rational half of her hoped he was dead somewhere and that she would never have to see him again. She was tired of living in fear, tired of hoping he'd crash his truck so that he couldn't come home and terrorize her, sick of the floor being littered with shards of broken glass, destroyed picture frames, and pulverized bits of everything-else. She couldn't stand seeing her son cringe in fear every time the front door opened. She would rather be poor. She would rather die.

"Mommy?"

Luna lifted her head. Lindemann stood in the hallway, obscured by shadows. He wore shorts and a T-shirt and clutched a teddy bear to his chest.

He looked scared.

"What, baby?" she asked.

"Are you okay?"

Luna sat up and held out her arms. "I'm fine. Come here."

Lindemann came hesitantly over and crawled into her lap. Luna held him tight and realized he was shaking. "Are you cold?" she asked.

The little boy shook his head. "I thought Daddy beat you up again."

The fearful tremble in his voice broke her heart, and she hugged him even tighter, stinging tears filling her eyes. "No, honey, I'm okay. Daddy's not coming back."

"Good," Lindemann said. "I don't like Daddy."

Why did that make her want to cry? Why did hearing her little boy say that about his own father hit her like a fist to the guts? Of course he didn't like Sully. She didn't either. "I know," she said and kissed his forehead. "But you don't have to worry about him anymore."

For a long time, they clung to each other, Luna rocking her son from side to side. After an hour, maybe more or less, a knock came at the door, and Lindemann's body went rigid with fear.

So did Luna's.

They were both thinking the same thing.

Daddy came back after all.

"Go to your room," Luna whispered.

Lindemann jumped up and ran down the hall, letting out a cry of alarm when the knock came again. Luna got to her feet, went into the kitchen, and took a steak knife out of the drawer, her fear and dread turning to rage. If it was Sully, she was going to kill him. He could smile, he could apologize, he could turn on his famous charm, but she wouldn't fall for it again. She'd jam the knife into his guts and twist. Not for herself, but for her son.

She went to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it.

Sam, Mazzy, Mom and Dad, and Lori and Leni crowded together on the porch. Luna relaxed and hid the knife behind her back. "Hey," she said, "what's up?

"We have something for you," Sam said.

They all sat in the living room, Luna on the floor with Lindemann in her lap. He flew a toy car around like an airplane and made motor noises with his mouth. "Well, we were thinking," Sam said, "that we wanted to help you out."

"So we pooled our money," Mazzy said.

"And totes got you a house," Leni said.

Luna blinked in surprise. Did she hear that right? "A house?"

Mom nodded. "It's a small one in a neighborhood that isn't the best."

"But it's not the worst, either," Lori said.

"We did that so we could buy it outright," Dad said.

Luna's eyes filled with tears of gratitude and she blinked them away. She didn't know what to say or do, so she started to cry.

Everyone crowded around for a group hug with Luna and Lindemann in the center, and for the first time in a long time, Luna felt okay.

She and her son would make it.

Somehow.

That she promised herself. Whatever it took, her son would have a good life.

And Sully would never be a part of it.