Chapter 3

The next evening, the house was brightly lit and packed with well-dressed guests.

My parents were hosting a small gathering. They'd invited influential relatives and longtime friends from New York high society. They called it a pre-Thanksgiving get-together, but everyone knew why they were really there: Clara was taking my place as Liam's fiancée.

My aunt held a glass of champagne and laughed so hard her shoulders shook.

"Clara's always been lucky. Now she's marrying into that family. She'll be one of New York's most sought-after socialites."

Clara lowered her head shyly.

"Oh, stop teasing me. Liam only looks out for me because I'm younger. That's all there is to it."

My uncle chimed in from beside her. "Clara has always been sweet and considerate. Emma barely says a word and always looks miserable. Men want a woman who understands them, not someone who brings down the whole room."

I stood at the kitchen counter, mechanically slicing fruit as cold water ran over the backs of my hands. My knuckles had turned white from the cold.

My mother strode into the kitchen and dropped a stack of dirty plates beside the sink.

"Hurry up and wash these."

She glanced at me and frowned.

"We have important guests here tonight. Stop looking so miserable. People will think we mistreat you. When you're done, bring the fruit out and greet everyone."

I turned off the faucet and dried my hands on a towel.

"We're out of dessert forks. I'll get some from the storage room."

As I crossed the living room, I saw Clara surrounded by a group of young socialites.

She had an antique pocket watch in her hand.

It was the only thing my grandfather had left me when he died. The case was carved with intricate irises, and inside was a black-and-white photo of him and my grandmother. On all those late nights when my parents ignored me, it was the one thing I held on to for comfort.

"What's this?" one of our cousins asked, leaning in curiously.

Clara flipped the watch idly in one hand and said, "No idea. The workers found it while clearing out Emma's room today. It's old and heavy. Probably just some cheap junk she picked up at a flea market."

She flicked her wrist.

It hit the floor with a clang.

The cover snapped off. The crystal shattered. Tiny gears scattered across the floor, and a deep scratch tore across the photograph inside.

The living room went quiet for a moment.

I stopped dead, staring at the shattered watch on the floor. My blood ran cold.

Clara gasped dramatically.

"Oops. It slipped."

My mother hurried over, took Clara's hand, and anxiously checked it for cuts.

"Did you cut yourself? How could you be so careless?"

Once she was sure Clara was fine, my mother turned to me, her voice full of impatience.

"Honestly, Emma. Why didn't you throw that old junk away? It was just taking up space. I'll buy you a new watch from Cartier tomorrow."

My father walked over with a glass in his hand, frowning.

"It's a happy occasion. Don't ruin everyone's mood over a piece of junk. Get a broom and clean this up before your sister steps on the glass."

The relatives shook their heads in agreement.

"That's right, Emma. Clara is about to marry into one of the country's wealthiest families. You're the older sister. Stop being so petty."

"It's just a watch. So it broke. Be the bigger person."

I stood there, looking at their self-righteous faces.

When Grandpa died, my parents skipped his funeral for Clara's horse show. Anything he left me was worthless to them next to their precious Clara.

I felt utterly drained. I thought I'd break down sobbing or rush over and slap Clara.

But I didn't.

The whole thing was so ridiculous that I couldn't even be angry anymore.

I walked to the corner, picked up the broom and dustpan, and crouched beside the shattered watch.

Piece by piece, I swept the broken glass, twisted gears, and torn photograph into the dustpan. A shard sliced my finger, sending drops of blood onto the white marble.

I didn't stop. I dumped every last piece into the trash can.

Then I picked up the trash can and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" my mother called after me, irritation in her voice. "You still haven't brought out the fruit platter for the guests!"

I didn't look back.

"Taking out the trash."

Outside, the late autumn wind was cold, but I couldn't feel it anymore.