Chapter 3

EMILY.

I stepped off the plane at LAX, the California sun warming my skin instantly. A harsh contrast to New York’s biting cold.

As I rolled my small suitcase out of the terminal, a familiar weight settled on my shoulders — not the expectation of being their “perfect daughter” exactly, but the invisible pressure to keep being the one who never messed up. The one they could still rely on.

I wasn’t here for a vacation. I was here because of Racheal. My sister was finally back, and Mom insisted on a return dinner. I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be part of the celebration.

I hailed a cab, sinking into the cracked leather seat as my mind flickered — not to Rachel — but to him.

The mysterious man with the crooked smile and sharp blue eyes.

Our one-night stand in New York still lingered in the back of my mind like a secret I wasn’t sure how to feel about.The cab pulled up to my parents' house — same white shutters, same trimmed hedges — but a wave of unease rolled over me. Opposite the street I saw a black car parked across. Don't know but I felt a bit unease.

I paid the driver and forced myself up the front steps.

Before I even knocked, the door swung open.

Every holiday I get from school, I came home expecting the same old routine —

Mom's hugs, Dad's quiet pride, Lisa lounging around like time owed her a favor. But this time, the air felt heavier, different, as if something was waiting to unfold. And true to form, when Lisa opened the door, there she was again — doing absolutely nothing, just like always.

"Hey," Lisa said flatly, standing in the doorway.

No “kiddo” or sisterly hug.

Just Lisa — unemployed, twice divorced, still living off Mom and Dad.

"Hey," I answered, just as flat.

Inside, the house smelled like fresh lemon polish and baked chicken.

Mom came bustling out of the kitchen, apron still tied around her waist.

"Emily, sweetie! We've missed you," she gushed, pulling me into a warm, too- long hug.

I squeezed back, feeling that old twist of guilt.

Mom always made it so hard to be angry.

"Dad's in the living room," she added, waving toward the old recliner.

I found Dad there, newspaper in hand, the corners of his mouth lifting when he saw me.

"Hey, pumpkin."We chatted — small talk about classes, New York life — all while skirting around the giant, looming presence of Racheal.

After a few minutes, I leaned toward Mom.

"Is Racheal here yet?"

Mom wiped her hands on her apron, a nervous tic.

"She stepped out early this morning. Needed some air, I guess."

Right.

Probably needed to clear her head before facing the family she abandoned for two years.

I swallowed my bitterness and sat down at the dinner table as everyone gathered.

Plates clinked, conversations stumbled.

Then the front door creaked open.

Racheal walked in, all casual smiles and bright eyes.

Her hair — dyed some ridiculous shade of raven-purple — caught the light.

She wore a loose jacket that only half-hid the tattoos crawling down her arms.

"Hey, guys!" she said brightly, shrugging off her bag.

Mom and Dad practically beamed at her, like nothing had happened.

Lisa smiled widely “ someone's cleared their head ”. She said and Racheal smiled at her back.

I stayed silent, my gaze cutting through the bullshit.

"How was your walk, sweetie?" Mom asked, her voice syrupy."Good," Racheal chirped, flopping into a chair.

I studied her — not a hint of shame, no trace of regret. Not even a real apology for the hell she put us through.

Mom clasped her hands together. "Racheal, we're so happy you're back."

"Yeah," Lisa added quickly, "It must’ve been tough, right? Prison and all."

Rachael laughed — actually laughed — tossing her purple hair over her shoulder. "Prison wasn't so bad," she said with a careless grin. I caught sight of more tattoos snaking up her wrist. Sure, Rach. A real blast.

She started spinning some tale about her "adventures" behind bars, making it sound like she went to some twisted summer camp instead of ruining her life.

But still — not a word about those missing two years. No apology to Mom. No explanation for the nightmares she caused.

My fists clenched under the table.

Then I saw it — a thin, jagged scar running from her jawline to her cheekbone. She tried to mask it with makeup, but the light betrayed her.

"How’d you get that scar?" I interrupted sharply, cutting through her fairy tale.

Racheal's smile wobbled. For a second — just a second — something dark flickered across her face.

She brushed her fingertips over the scar like it was a habit she couldn’t break.

"This?" she chuckled stiffly.

"Got into a fight in prison. No big deal.

Mom reached out and squeezed Racheal’s hand tenderly. "I'm just glad you're home," she whispered.

She doesn’t deserve it, I thought. She doesn’t deserve their forgiveness.

Rachael kept chattering, talking about prison fights and "fun" cellmates, but none of it answered the only question that mattered: Where were you before they locked you up?

I couldn't take it anymore.

“Rachael, just stop,” I snapped, my voice slicing through the room. Everyone froze.

Rachael blinked at me, wide-eyed, playing her little game of fake innocence. “What’s the problem, Emily?”

“You know what,” I spat, my chest tightening, heart hammering against my ribs.

“Emily, dear,” Mom said carefully, “Let’s not dwell on the past—”

“No, Mom. I’m not pretending everything’s fine!”

I turned on Rachael, my voice low but shaking with fury.

“You disappeared. Two years. You left your family thinking you were dead, and now you stroll back in like nothing happened?”

Rachael’s mask slipped. Her jaw tightened.

“I was gonna explain,” she muttered. “But… I can’t. Not yet. I need time.”

“Time?” I scoffed, bitter laughter spilling out. “You’ve had nothing but time.”

Lisa shifted in her chair, tugging at her sleeves. Mom and Dad exchanged frantic glances.

“Emily, that’s enough,” Mom cut in sharply.

But my blood was boiling. I rounded on Lisa.

“And you—still sucking the life out of Mom and Dad like a parasite? Get off your ass and find a damn job.”

Lisa’s face burned crimson.

“I’m trying,” she whispered.

“Trying?” I barked. “You dropped out and gave up. That’s not trying—that’s pathetic.”

Rachael slammed her hand on the table, her voice rising.

“You know, Emily, you’re the only one who didn’t even bother to greet me when I walked in.”

I let out a sharp laugh.

“Oh, please. You’re not that important.”Her eyes flashed.

“You’re just a bitch. A cold, bitter bitch.”

“And you,” I shot back, venom dripping from my tongue, “you’re nothing but dead weight. The second leech in this family, because Lisa already claimed the first spot.”

Rachael pushed to her feet, trembling with rage.

“Are you serious? You act like you’re so perfect, but you’re not. You’re just as broken as the rest of us!”

The room erupted — voices shouting, Mom begging for calm, Dad’s fists clenching at his sides.

I slammed my palm down on the table, the crack silencing everything.

“I’ve had enough!”

Without another word, I stormed off, my footsteps pounding up the stairs until I slammed my bedroom door shut.

I pressed my forehead against the door, breathing hard.

Why was I even here? Should have just stayed in NYC.

---

*Saturday Morning*

When I woke up, sunlight filtered through the curtains.

I felt lighter — like breathing was easier just knowing I'd be leaving tomorrow.

Downstairs, the house was oppressively quiet.

Lisa and Rachel whispered on the couch, falling silent as I entered.

I ignored them, walking straight to the kitchen."Morning, sweetie," Mom greeted, her voice cautious.

"Morning."

Mom hovered, wringing a dishtowel in her hands. "About last night..."

I cut her off before she could guilt-trip me. "Sorry, Mom. Just... mood swings, okay?" The lie slipped out easily, coating the awkwardness like cheap paint. Mom’s shoulders relaxed a little.

"Okay, dear. We understand."

But they didn’t. Not really.

Dad was in the living room, pretending to read the paper but barely turning the pages.

"Morning, kiddo," he said without looking up.

"Morning."

The air between us was heavy, suffocating.

Breakfast was quiet, just mum asking us questions about our lives just to get us to talk. After I helped mum clear up I went upstairs .

I was walking down the hallway toward my room when I noticed Racheal’s door was slightly open.

I don’t know what came over me—I wasn’t trying to be weird or anything—but I stepped closer. Just wanted to see what she was doing. Nothing wrong with that… right?

I leaned in, quietly. Just a quick peek. Holy f*ck.

She was standing in front of her mirror, wearing only a bra and thong. But that’s not what froze me.

It was the scars.

Long, sharp lines carved into her skin—like someone had dragged a knife across her body and taken their time doing it.

There were three at her back. One ran from her shoulder down to the middle of her spine. Another cut across her lower back, starting at the waist. The third was smaller, closer to the side, but still raw-looking.

She stood there, tracing her fingers along them like she was remembering. Like they meant something.

Through the mirror, I could see faint marks on her front too, but I couldn’t make them out clearly. Still... they were there.

Prison fight? Maybe. But those scars didn’t look like the kind you get in a brawl.

I pulled back before she noticed and went straight to my room, heart pounding.

What the actual hell did I just see?

I lay down, staring at the ceiling, mind racing. Those weren’t random injuries. They looked… intentional. But what do I know?I’ve never been in a fight. I don’t know what scars are supposed to look like.

Still, something about those didn’t sit right.

After some time I decided to go for a walk needed out.

I stepped into the kitchen, finding Mom still busy at the counter. Probably preparing lunch.

“I’m going for a walk,” I told her.

She glanced up with a gentle smile.

“Alright, hun. Don’t be too long—lunch will be ready soon.”

I nodded.

“And let me know when you’re back,” she added, her tone soft but firm. Stepping outside, I inhaled the fresh morning air — and froze.

That same blacked-out car from yesterday was still parked across the street.

A chill crawled up my spine.

Someone was watching.

I shook it off — paranoia.

Probably just a neighbor's guest.

Still...

I crossed the street anyway.

I went towards the car, and with no hesitation, I knocked on it. My

recklessness would get me killed one day. My heart warned me to walk away,

to mind my business, but my mind... my mind always had other plans.The window rolled down slowly, and a big-looking man appeared.

He was bald

and had a tattoo of a lion close to his ear.

"Hey, your car's been here since yesterday... you looking for anyone?"

"Stalking me now, aren't ya?" the guy said with a smirk. He wasn't bad looking though

“ Answer my question," I demanded, my voice steady and firm. There was a glint of admiration in his eyes, probably from the way I spoke.

"I'm actually here to stalk someone," he said, and my eyes widened in surprise.

Was he serious? Or just messing with me?

"You know I can call the cops on you, right?"

"Do you, sweetheart," he said now with a grin. "Name's Dem. What's yours?"

I didn’t see the need not to tell him. I just wanted him to know I wasn't scared.

But I thought better to not tell him

“ None of your business," I said, showing no hint of fear. He brought his hand

forward for a handshake, but I didn’t take it.

"Well, 'none of your business' ," he said, withdrawing his hand. "It’s brave of you to come knock on a stranger's window. What if I was a serial killer?"

"And it’s brave of you to talk to a stranger. What if I was a serial killer? If you don’t leave now, I’ll call the cops," I said before turning to leave.

Dickhead.

I took a short walk before heading back home, and I saw the car wasn't there any more.

Good

At the mailbox, I noticed a small envelope addressed to Dad.Grabbing it, I reached the front door,I hesitated to go inside again, because it will be family break fast this time and the akwardness would be so much.

But I didn't even have time to think much Racheal Swung the door open stepping out her purple hair being loud we held eye contact for like 5 akward seconds before silently slipping passed each other, me going inside the house and she coming outside. Her hair was louder than us.

"Mom, I'm back," I called out.

"In the kitchen, sweetie," she replied.

I joined her and found Lisa lounging on the couch, engrossed in a movie.

"Hey, need some help?" I asked Mom.

"Yes, dear. Can you chop the vegetables?"

I began chopping, my annoyance growing as Lisa remained idle.

Mom noticed my frustration.

"Emily, don't mind her. She'll'll help eventually."

But eventually never came. Not too long Racheal came back.

As we finished preparing dinner, I lost my patience.

"Can't you two help? We're not servants!"

Lisa and Racheal exchanged a lazy glance before finally standing.

Rachael followed, eyes glued to her phone.

Just then, I remembered the mail.

"Excuse me," I said, retrieving it from the console table.I headed to Dad's study, knocking gently.

"Come in," he called out.

"Dad, this mail came for you," I said, handing it over.

"Thanks, sweetie," he replied with a smile.

"What's wrong? You seem stressed," he asked, noting my expression.

"Just Lisa and Racheal not helping," I replied.

"Ah, don't let them get to you. You're doing great," he said. "I'm proud of you, Emily. You're growing into a strong, independent woman." I smiled, feeling appreciated.

As I returned to the dining room and helped set the table, I accidentally dropped a plate.

It shattered on the floor. Lisa and Racheal snickered.

"Oops. And here I thought Saint Emily walked on glass," Racheal mocked.

"I'm not perfect—I just try harder than you," I snapped.

“ here you we go again” Lisa said rolling her eyes. Our bickering escalated until a loud thud from Dad's study silenced us. We exchanged worried glances.

"Honey?" Mom called out, concern etched on her face.

We rushed to the study to find Dad collapsed on the floor. Mom screamed.

I immediately grabbed the phone, dialing 911 with shaking hands. "Dad, hang in there!" I pleaded.

Dad was still conscious, so I was sure it was just a mild heart attack—but I was still terrified.

After the ambulance came and took him to the hospital, I decided to go back and lock his office before joining everyone else.

As I entered the study, I saw the envelope I had given him earlier lying on the floor. Curious, I picked it up and opened it.

It had Lisa’s name on it. TF? Why is Dad buying a car in her name? That's when it clicked.