Love Rents A Room
Chapter 55: Trouble At The Door

Chapter 55: Trouble At The Door

At the grocery store, Joanne let the kids wander through the aisles while she filled the cart with clothes, basic necessities, and enough food to last them a week. When she was sure they weren’t listening, she pulled out her phone and called James.

"I have the Walsh kids," she said, her voice low.

James didn’t sound surprised. "How bad is it?"

"Bruises, dirt, hunger," she murmured, watching the children examine a row of cereal boxes. "No open wounds, at least not on the girls. I don’t know about Tim. He won’t let me see."

James cursed under his breath. "Damn it... Their aunt was supposed to take them."

"I know." Joanne sighed. "But they’re terrified of being split up. They won’t go to a shelter."

James was quiet for a long moment. Then he exhaled.

"I’ll talk to their aunt. See what I can do. But Joanne, you know this isn’t exactly legal, right?"

"I don’t care," she said, glancing at the kids again. "They need somewhere safe. And for now, that’s my place."

James didn’t argue.

"Keep me updated," he said finally, before hanging up.

-----

By the time they pulled into Joanne’s driveway, the kids were exhausted.

Fluffy, her enormous dog, bounded toward them, tail wagging, but the children shrank back in fear. The toddler whimpered, burying her face against Joanne’s neck.

"It’s okay," JD said, stepping forward. He knelt beside Fluffy, scratching behind his ears. "See? He’s a big softie."

Timmy remained wary, but Hannah, the middle child, watched closely. She hesitated, then slowly reached out and patted Fluffy’s head. The dog licked her fingers, and she giggled.

From there, the ice was broken. Fluffy turned into a complete fluffball, rolling over and nuzzling them, and soon all three kids were laughing, petting his soft fur.

JD caught Joanne’s gaze.

She smiled.

They were safe now.

Inside, Joanne immediately started dinner while JD helped settle the kids. She led the girls to her bathroom, where warm water filled the tub, steam curling against the air.

They needed a good scrubbing.

Hannah, hesitant at first, eventually let Joanne help her shampoo her hair. As Joanne worked her fingers through the tangled strands, Hannah let out a small, breathy giggle.

"My mom used to do that..." she whispered.

Joanne’s hands froze.

Her throat tightened.

For a moment, she had no words.

Then, pressing a gentle kiss to the girl’s damp forehead, she murmured, "She must’ve loved you very much."

Hannah smiled, eyes bright with memory.

Her heart broke seeing the diaper rashes on the little one. She had bought some over the counter medications earlier but she decided to check with the doctor soon. These kids must have suffered enough, trying to take care of each other when their father was absent and downright abusive.

Joanne made sure to make the bath fun, letting them play with bubbles, wrapping them in warm towels afterward. She dried their hair, brushed it neatly, and helped them into clean, new clothes.

When Hannah’s eyes widened in pure joy at the sight of the fresh dress, Joanne felt something stir deep inside her.

"Really? For me?" the girl asked, holding it close like a treasure.

Joanne nodded. "And this cute bow for your hair..."

Hannah beamed, her gratitude so intense, so raw, that Joanne nearly had to look away.

Because in that moment, she saw herself in Hannah’s wide, hopeful eyes.

She saw the girl she used to be.

A girl who had once been lost and scared, just like them.

And now, all these years later, she finally understood something—why the people who had helped her never asked for thanks.

Because this feeling... this quiet, radiant joy of giving... was thanks enough.

Joanne knelt beside the toddler, Lizzy, offering her a soft smile. She spoke to her in a gentle, soothing voice, trying to coax out even the smallest reaction.

But the child barely responded.

Her big, dark eyes flickered with something distant, something hollow.

Joanne tried again, asking simple questions, offering her a stuffed toy she had found in the guest room, but Lizzy remained silent, her tiny fingers curled into fists against her lap.

Joanne’s heart clenched.

It wasn’t just shyness.

She could see it now—the learned silence, the way the toddler flinched at sudden movements, how she shrank in on herself as if trying to disappear.

Her father must have hated the sound of her voice. Maybe her cries irritated him. Maybe he flared up at every whimper, every plea for attention, until eventually... Lizzy learned not to make a sound at all.

A survival mechanism.

She had barely even started her life, and already, she had learned that the safest thing to be... was invisible.

Joanne swallowed the lump in her throat and gently tucked a stray curl behind Lizzy’s ear.

"You’re safe now, sweetheart," she whispered, though she doubted the little girl believed it.

Stepping out of the room, Joanne exhaled heavily, running a hand through her hair.

JD was waiting for her, his arms crossed.

"No luck?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Kid won’t talk."

She didn’t have to ask which one.

Timmy, the eldest, had barely spoken since they got home. It wasn’t just defiance or wariness. It was something heavier.

JD sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I thought maybe he’d tell me if he was hurt, but he just keeps shutting down."

Joanne nodded, though it didn’t surprise her.

Timmy wasn’t just a scared child—he was a child trying to be a parent.

At an age where he should be playing, laughing, learning about the world, he had already taken on the impossible burden of protecting his siblings. He had stepped into a role no child should ever have to fill.

And he would carry that weight for the rest of his life.

With every passing year, the silence would deepen. The responsibility would grow. His childhood had ended the day his father decided not to be a father.

JD glanced at her, frowning. "It’s a sad situation."

Joanne let out a slow, quiet breath.

No.

It was more than sad.

It was tragic.

The warm atmosphere around the dining table shattered in an instant.

Joanne had been watching the kids eat, her heart swelling at the way they savored every bite as if they hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks. Even JD, despite his usual sharp demeanor, seemed content with the simple comfort food.

Then—

The dogs barked. Loud. Aggressive.

A voice slurred through the night like a jagged blade.

"Hey, B*tch! Get out here!"

The words cut through the air, and the reaction was immediate.

The children froze.

Timmy’s fork clattered against his plate, his small hands curling into fists. Hannah’s wide eyes darted toward the front door, her little shoulders trembling. Even Lizzy, who hadn’t spoken a word all night, whimpered and gripped the edge of the table.

Joanne’s stomach turned cold.

She checked her phone.

Ian Walsh.

Of course.

"Timmy! Get out right this instant!"