Chapter 3—Back To Her Past

Chapter 3— Back To Her Past 

Just like Kallista hated her life now. The acrid stench of smoke clung to Kallista’s clothes as she stood in front of the Jones’ family home.

 It hadn’t changed much in the years since she’d last been here. The blue shutters still framed the windows perfectly, the flower boxes still had the vibrant red and white flowers, and the house itself still seemed to radiate the warmth she had once craved but never felt.

She stared at the door for a moment, her throat tightening. She hadn’t lived at her mother’s house in years—not since she turned eighteen. But with her life in shambles and nowhere else to go, what choice did she have?

Her fingers trembled as she knocked. No turning back now.

The door opened faster than expected, and there stood Dorothea Hudges Jones, her mother. Her dark hair was swept into a low bun, and her apron was dusted with flour. The perfect mother. The perfect housewife. At first glance, Kallista almost felt like a child again, coming home to cookies cooling on the counter and soft words of encouragement. But the furrow between Dorothea’s brows quickly reminded her that those days were long gone.

“Kallista?” Dorothea blinked, taking in her soot-streaked face and the awkward and battered suitcase at her side. “What—what happened?”

“My apartment caught fire,” Kallista said, her voice hoarse. “I didn’t know anywhere else to go.”

Dorothea’s mouth opened and closed, her gaze darting to the suitcase. “Oh...I see.” She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder before stepping aside. “Come in.”

She stepped inside, her eyes sweeping the familiar foyer. The walls had been repainted, and new furniture now occupied the living room, but the faint scent of her mother's favorite lavender cleaner filled her nose along with the smell of something cooking.

“You didn’t call,” Dorothea said, shutting the door behind her.

“I didn’t have time,” She replied flatly, setting her suitcase down near the stairs.

Her mother wrung her hands. “You should’ve called.”

“What difference would it have made?” Kallista snapped.

Before Dorothea could respond, a deep voice cut through the tension.

“Kallista? Is that you?”

Benedict Jones entered the room, a glass of whiskey in hand. The years had softened his features, but his eyes, they still carried that dead look anytime he looked at her.

“Hello, Benedict,” Kallista said coolly.

“Benedict?” he repeated with a chuckle. “You used to call me Dad.”

“That was a long time ago,” She murmured back, looking down at her luggage.

“Enough,” Dorothea said, Kallista could hear the exasperation in her voice from a mile away. “Benedict, she’s had a rough day. Her apartment burned down.”

Benedict raised an eyebrow, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Is that so? And you decided to come back home?”

“Where else would I go?” Kallista said. “It’s my home.”

Benedict took a sip of his whiskey, studying her for a moment. “Well, you’re here now. But we’re hosting dinner tonight for Penelope and Jaxon, so try not to...cause a scene.”

Kallista’s jaw tightened but the name did not register at all with the mix of emotions she was feeling. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay out of your way.”

Dorothea placed a hand on her arm, her touch was cold doing nothing to soothe Kallista. “You’ll stay in your old room for now. It’s not much—it’s mostly storage these days—but we’ll make do.”

Kallista nodded silently, following her mother up the stairs. 

The room was suffocating. Penelope’s wedding items littered every surface, and a bagged white gown hung from the closet door like a ghost haunting her space.

“Penelope’s been using this room to store her things,” Dorothea said, hovering in the doorway.

“Of course she has,” Kallista muttered, setting her suitcase down with a thud.

Her mother sighed. “Kallista, I know this isn’t easy for you, but—”

“You think I’m jealous of Penelope?” Kallista interrupted, spinning to face her. “That I came back here to sabotage your perfect little life with them?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The silence between them was heavy, interrupted by the muffled sounds of Benedict’s attempt at dinner preparations downstairs.

“I don’t want trouble,” Dorothea said finally. “I just want peace in this house. Penelope’s wedding is in two weeks, and—”

“And you think I’m going to ruin it,” She finished for her, her voice bitter. “God,” She let out a humorless laugh, “Good to know where I stand.”

“Kallista,” Dorothea started, but her daughter was already pulling her suitcase open, ignoring her.

“Let me know when dinner’s ready, mom,” Kallista said, dismissing her.

After a moment, Dorothea sighed and closed the door behind her.

Kallista sat on the bed after her mother left, staring at the cracked ceiling. The smell of smoke still lingered on her skin, a standing reminder of everything she’d lost. All in one night.

Her thoughts drifted to Penelope. The perfect daughter. The golden child. Her half-sister had always been the one to shine, while she faded into the background. Even now, Penelope’s presence dominated the house, her upcoming wedding consuming every inch of space, both physical and emotional.

Kallista clenched her fists. She didn’t want to be here, but what choice did she have? 

Right now, she needed a shower.