Chapter 3

I spent the night alone on a cold church pew. At dawn, I drifted home, half-conscious.

The second I walked in, Andrew was there—bloodshot eyes, a wreck.

He saw the blood on my dress and rushed to hug me.

"I'm sorry," he said, voice cracking. "I was gonna come back. But every time I tried, Cindy lost it. I swear, I couldn't leave her like that. She just settled down, and I was on my way to find you... Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." My voice didn't waver. "It's okay, Andrew. The wedding can wait. Cindy's health comes first."

His face froze. "You really mean that?"

"Of course."

Honestly, I didn't blame him for needing confirmation. We'd fought about Cindy a hundred times. Why wouldn't he double-check?

They'd tested the waters before—soft suggestions to just skip the wedding, you know, for Cindy's sake.

Every time, I held my ground. I wasn't gonna let them erase me that easily.

But now? None of it mattered.

I was done. Wedding or not—I was leaving.

I smiled, took the soup ingredients from his hands, headed for the kitchen.

"For Cindy, right? I'll make it. She's always loved my tomato bisque."

I lit the stove, cool as ever—not a flicker of anger. Andrew relaxed, smiled, and wrapped his arms around me.

"Viv, you finally get it. Cindy's sick. We have to keep her happy or the next wedding won't go well. Married or not, I'll always love you."

The irony hit hard.

Our wedding, hinging on Cindy's mood?

Old me would've lost it right there. Now? I just shut off the burner and poured the soup into a container.

"It's ready. Take it to her."

Andrew exhaled, all soft and grateful.

"You've really matured. Don't worry—once Cindy's better, I'll give you the biggest, most beautiful wedding ever."

His sweet talk didn't touch me.

Whatever hope I had for him vanished with the twelfth chime of that church bell.

I stepped past him, heading upstairs to change and pack. Halfway up, I ran into my parents.

They were carrying Cindy's makeup bag and a dress. Mom shot me a glare.

"What are you doing up here? You should be finishing Cindy's soup! She's still in the hospital—do you want her to starve?"

Dad's eyes were cold.

"If she hadn't saved you during that kidnapping, you'd be dead. And now she just wants some soup, and you can't even do that? How'd we end up with such an ungrateful daughter?"

That line again.

***

When they first brought me back from the orphanage, things were good. They redecorated a room just for me, took me to amusement parks, bought me cute dresses and little cakes.

They treated me like I mattered—like Cindy.

Cindy and I were close, like actual sisters.

But something shifted. I don't know what she said or did, but soon, their smiles faded. Disappointment crept in. Eventually, they stopped noticing me at all.

Then came the "kidnapping" she staged five years ago.

She had me taken, then faked a dramatic rescue—pretending to get hurt, acting unstable.

And just like that, they were sold. To them, I became cold and selfish, and Cindy was the brave, broken hero.

At first, I was crushed with guilt. Grateful, even.

I gave her whatever she wanted. Let her take it all. Even when she snapped during those so-called depressive spells, I stayed calm. I comforted her.

Then one day, our parents were out and I was making her lunch. She looked at me, all smug, and said it straight:

"The kidnapping? My idea. I wanted them to think you owed me—forever."

She grinned like it was a game. Said she'd take every drop of love they had for me.

After that, I couldn't even look at her the same. I tried to tell our parents, over and over, but they never believed me.

And every time they brushed me off, Cindy just smiled.

"Vivian, from now on, you don't have a mom or dad anymore."

And she was right. Her plan worked.

I lost them. All over again.

***

"Mr. Vallance, Mrs. Vallance, Vivian already made the soup," Andrew's voice cut in, snapping me out of my head.

Dad's anger melted fast, replaced by that smug approval.

"Vivian, you've finally grown up. Sisters should love each other. That's what keeps a family strong."

I smiled. "I won't fight with Cindy anymore.

"Oh, and Dad—Cindy couldn't finish her graduation project, right? She can use mine. I don't mind."

His grin widened. "That's the spirit. That's what being a big sister means."

Mom nodded, all pleased. "Come to the hospital with us. Cindy's gonna be thrilled."

I kept smiling. Soft. Sweet.

"Sure. You guys go ahead. I'll change and grab her a little cake first."

They left, all happy.

I turned, went upstairs.

Five minutes later, I walked out of that house—the one I'd called home for ten years—and never looked back.