Prolog continued: unexpected changes

About a year later:

The scent of buttery pancakes and maple syrup danced through the hall, tugging Aria from sleep like a whispered promise. The house hummed with life—pans clattering, laughter echoing, music low and soulful drifting from the old kitchen radio.

She stretched under the worn quilt, curls tangled around her cheeks, and blinked toward the ceiling with a soft smile. These mornings—where everything felt warm and full and right—were her favorite.

“Rise and shine, bookworm!” Jamison’s voice rang out from the hallway.

She rolled her eyes and swung her legs over the mattress.

In the kitchen, Marlene was flipping pancakes like a pro, hair pinned up in a messy knot, one slipper sliding off her heel as she danced in place to the music. Jamison manned the bacon, expertly dodging grease pops, while Harold sat at the table with a pen in his hand and a manila folder open beside his coffee mug.

“There’s my girl,” Harold beamed, tapping the seat next to him. “Come see this, sweetheart. This investment is huge. It’s finally gonna give me the capital to open a second location—maybe even bring in custom printing.”

Aria sat beside him, peeking at the sleek brochure. The words Ridgeway Mutual were stamped across the top in bold, fancy lettering.

“Think they’ll let me design the logo?” she teased.

Harold grinned, eyes twinkling. “Only if you don’t make it pink.”

Marlene leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I told you things would turn around, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah, you did,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “But I’ll take credit anyway.”

The whole room lit up with laughter. Real. Whole. Untouched by the quiet heartbreaks life hadn’t delivered yet.

They ate together, plates full and spirits high.

Later, when they piled into the truck for school drop-off, Aria couldn’t stop smiling. Jamison tossed her bag into the bed of the truck while Harold adjusted the radio. He was humming.

Hope lived in his voice.

It wrapped around them like armor.

At school, Jamison slung an arm around Aria’s shoulder and walked her to the front doors like he always did.

Only this time, she spotted Kade.

He was leaning against the far fence, hands in his pockets, jaw tense. His eyes met hers for a moment—too brief to mean anything, too sharp not to.

He looked away first.

Aria pretended it didn’t matter.

The first time Aria saw her father cry, it was over a manila envelope.

It came in the mail, thick and official-looking, the Ridgeway Mutual logo stamped right at the top. Her dad sat at the kitchen table, the same spot he used to tell dumb jokes and plan their future, and just stared at it like it might burst into flames.

“Dad?” she asked softly.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t blink. Just ran his hand down his face and whispered a word she wasn’t supposed to know.

“Fraud.”

That night, the yelling started. Not at her, never at her—but loud and raw and painful between Marlene and Harold as she tried to get him to fight, to stand up, to be himself.

“We’ll bounce back,” Marlene said every night for weeks. “We always do, Harold.”

But he didn’t bounce.

He broke.

Calls were made. Police reports filed. Lawyers turned them down one after another. Ridgeway Mutual had vanished overnight, and so had every dollar he’d sunk into it. Everything he’d built—gone.

The print shop stayed open, but barely. Bills went unpaid. Customers got impatient. Harold stopped shaving. Then he stopped showing up. Then he stopped talking altogether.

One morning, Aria walked into the kitchen and found him still in his robe, staring blankly out the window, untouched coffee cold beside his hand. Marlene stood in the hallway, one hand over her mouth, the other clutching a purse she no longer took to work.

It wasn’t immediate. It wasn’t violent.

But Harold Simmons disappeared all the same.

Aria stopped reading her books.

She cleaned the house instead.

She helped Jamison with the shop’s books and learned how to make spaghetti that didn’t burn. She stopped asking her dad to come to her school plays. She stopped asking anything at all.

And that’s when Mason Dorsey noticed her.

It was the first week of high school, and he was leaning against the locker beside hers like he’d always belonged there. Three years older, handsome in that smug, town-golden-boy way, with eyes that glinted when they shouldn’t.

“You always look so serious,” he said with a lazy smile. “Smile more. You’ve got a pretty one.”

Aria blinked at him, caught off guard. No one had said that to her in weeks. Months, maybe.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, hugging her books tighter.

“You should let me take you out sometime,” he said, walking away before she could answer.

And just like that… Mason Dorsey planted a seed.

Not love.

But attention.

And for a girl drowning in silence, that was enough.

The sound of Marlene’s suitcase dragging across the floor would stay with Aria for the rest of her life.

It was quiet at first—just the whisper of fabric wheels on hardwood. But in a house where silence had become routine, even a whisper could shatter.

“Mama?” Aria stepped into the hallway, bare feet cold against the tile.

Marlene stood at the front door with her hand on the knob, her suitcase upright beside her. Her purse slung across her body like she was running errands. Except she wasn’t coming back.

“Where are you going?” Aria asked, heart crawling into her throat.

Marlene turned. Her eyes were glassy, swollen. Her voice, when it came, was soft. “Upstate. To your Aunt Clara’s. I need… I need to breathe, baby.”

“What about Dad?” Aria whispered.

Her mother glanced down the hallway, toward the den where Harold sat—same chair, same robe, same dead stare. He hadn’t spoken in three days.

“He doesn’t even know I’m leaving,” Marlene said, voice cracking. “I told him. I begged him. He’s not—he’s not here anymore, Aria.”

The sob hit Aria like a storm surge. She dropped to her knees in the middle of the hall, choking on it, fists curled into the carpet. “You can’t leave us! You can’t!”

Jamison stormed out of the kitchen, jaw clenched. “What the hell, Ma?”

“I’ve tried, Jamie. For a year. I’ve tried to hold this family together with spit and prayers.” Her voice wavered. “I’m breaking.”

“You think we’re not?” he snapped. “You think she’s not?” He pointed to Aria, shaking on the floor. “We’re all breaking, but we don’t get to leave.”

“You can come with me,” Marlene said, reaching for them. “Both of you.”

Jamison took a step back, arm blocking Aria like a shield. “No. We stay. He’s our dad. You said family doesn’t quit. You taught us that.”

Marlene winced, tears slipping free now. “Don’t do this—”

“You already did.”

Silence.

Then the door opened. The suitcase wheeled forward.

She didn’t look back.

She never came back.