Chapter 3

Emma's POV

When we were kids, Nathan and Clara had their own personalized dishes, their names painted neatly along the rims.

I was the only one who didn't.

Once, when Granny came to visit, I'd worked up the courage to mention it.

Mom tore into me before I'd even finished. "You already eat enough. Now you need special dishes too? You think those things are free?

"And you just had to bring it up in front of your grandmother, didn't you? You're awfully calculating for a kid your age."

I cried through half my dinner that night before giving up and going to my room.

Just before Granny left, though, there was a soft knock at my door. She came in smiling, something wrapped carefully in tissue paper between her hands.

She placed a white ceramic bowl in my lap. At the bottom was a tiny bluebird.

"If Nathan and Clara get something special, you'll get something special too."

Back in the apartment, no one said a word. The silence was so complete I could hear Snowy's nails clicking against the floor.

Mom blinked, then shifted awkwardly out of my way. Something flickered across her face, but I didn't wait to figure out what it was.

I walked past her and took the bowl to the kitchen. I washed it carefully, dried it, wrapped it in a clean dish towel, and tucked it deep inside my moving bag.

Then I turned around. "So, I'll ask one more time. Is there anywhere for me to sleep? If not, I'll get a hotel."

Dad drew a long breath, as if he were about to say something.

Mom cut him off, "There's a folding cot on the enclosed balcony."

"Okay." That was all I said. I set up the cot myself. It barely fit between the drying rack and the window, but it was only for one night.

I'd come home thinking I'd say a proper goodbye before I left. Now I couldn't think of anything that still needed saying.

The enclosed balcony was an oven.

The spot where I'd hit the coffee table had swollen by then, and every time I turned, pain throbbed through my lower back. I tossed and turned until morning, barely sleeping.

At some point, I gave up and went to the kitchen for an ice pack.

The moment I opened the freezer, I stopped.

Everything had its place. The bottom drawer was labeled "Clara's ice cream. Hands off." The middle shelf was stocked with Nathan's favorite steaks.

Even in the freezer, everyone had a space that belonged to them. Everyone except me.

I grabbed an ice pack and shut the door. As I passed my parents' bedroom, I heard voices through the door. Then I heard my name. So, I stopped.

"Do you ever think we went too far?" Dad was saying. "Cutting off the Internet right before Emma's college applications were due, making sure she missed the deadline for Hawthorne... She could've gone to one of the best universities in the country."

My fingers tightened around the ice pack.

Mom's voice rose. "How was that going too far? What's wrong with the girls attending the same local university? If Emma had gone all the way across the country, Clara would've been devastated."

For a second, I couldn't breathe.

Three years ago, I thought the Internet outage was bad luck. I'd thought missing that application deadline was my fault. I'd spent three years believing I'd ruined my own future.

The ice pack slipped from my hand. It hit the floor with a sharp slap. The voices inside stopped.

I pushed open the door, trembling so hard I could barely get the words out. "You did that?"

They stared at me.

"You sabotaged my application because you thought Clara would be upset if I left?"

Mom recovered first. "Oh, don't be ridiculous. You grew up in the middle of nowhere. Sending you across the country alone would've been asking for trouble. We kept you close so we could look out for you. How is that a bad thing?"

Dad gave me that same familiar look. Patient. Disappointed. As though I were the one being unreasonable. "Emma, we were trying to protect you."

I stared at them.

Protect me? They'd taken away my choice, cost me the future I'd worked for, and called it protection.

Years of resentment surged up all at once. "You sent me away when I was a baby. You deliberately sabotaged my college application. And you're still calling that 'protecting me'?"

"Enough!" Dad's face hardened. "Is that any way to speak to your parents? And what was so terrible about growing up with your grandmother? She must've taken pretty good care of you. You certainly never went hungry."

Before I could answer, the doorbell rang.

A few minutes later, my paternal grandparents, Walter Winston and Margaret Heaton, had everyone gathered around the dining table. Grandma had brought over a huge pot of homemade chicken soup.

She served Nathan first, giving him one of the drumsticks. The other went to Clara. Then she picked through what was left, dropped a fatty piece she'd already taken a couple of bites from into my bowl, and ladled broth over it.

"Look at you. You're skin and bones. Have some soup."

A thick layer of yellow grease floated across the surface, coating the pale meat beneath it.

My stomach turned.

It had always been like this.

When I was little, Grandma constantly pushed rich, greasy food on me. Anything Nathan or Lily didn't want somehow ended up on my plate.

"Emma will eat it."

"Give it to Emma."

"Don't waste it. Emma's not picky."

So, I ate and gained weight. And then the same people who kept piling food onto my plate mocked me for being greedy.

Dad glanced at me. This time, he didn't say anything. He didn't stop her either.

I stood, picked up the entire pot, walked over to the trash, and tipped it in. Broth, chicken, grease. All of it.

The room erupted behind me, but I wasn't finished. I pulled my phone from my pocket and slipped off the case. Behind it was a single photograph. The only family picture I'd ever carried with me.

I looked at it once before tearing it in half. Again. And again.

I dropped the pieces into the trash on top of the soup.

Grandma shot to her feet. "You threw it away? That was perfectly good food!"

Grandpa stared into the trash with a pained expression. "What a waste. A few years in the city and suddenly she's too good for home cooking."

"Forget her!" Grandma snapped. "She walks around acting like this family owes her something. After everything we've done for her, this is how she repays us."

I looked at the scraps of the photograph slowly soaking through with broth.

For once, I didn't feel like defending myself.