Chapter 5

Sareena

I step out of the airport and immediately spot Tommy, our family’s ever‑loyal lapdog. Why on earth would Dad send him? He’s one of the main reasons I had to get out of New York in the first place.

The moment he sees me; his face lights up and he heads my way with his arms spread wide, as if we’re supposed to hug.

“Hey, beautiful,” he drawls.

I sidestep like he’s contagious. “That’s creepy, Tommy. Call me Sareena. We’re not friends, and we’re definitely not on friendly terms.”

His arms drop, but the cocky smirk stays. I walk straight to the car. “Why don’t you ride up front with me?” he calls after me.

I ignore him and slip into the back seat. Pop in my earbuds. Any conversation with him is the last thing I want.

Being back in New York feels… strange. I haven’t set foot here since Mom left me at MIT’s doors more than five years ago. I wasn’t even thirteen then, fresh out of high school, clutching full scholarships to every Ivy League. I never expected they’d actually let me go, but after Mom found out that Dad and Tommy had tried to take naked pictures of me after drugging my juice, she convinced Nono.

That same day, Mom asked Sophia if anything like that had ever happened to her, if Tommy or Dad had ever touched her. But my twin denied everything. She claimed Tommy was never around her, that he’d never done anything inappropriate. That night, Sophia got a brand-new TV and a stereo system for her room.

Dad tried to convince Mom that I was lying, that I was ‘confused.’ But deep down, I think she knew the truth. I saw it in her eyes that day. She didn’t argue. She didn’t push. She just called Nono. Then she asked Kathy to take me as far away from New York as possible. MIT, on the other side of the country, tucked into sunny Southern California.

Kathy was incredible. She didn’t just take care of me; she stayed with me. Even after Mom stopped sending money, Kathy never left. I dipped into my scholarship funds to keep us afloat. We lived simply, but we had enough.

When I got into Harvard, I worked twice as hard to earn even more scholarships. I applied for everything, and I won most of them. But life in Cambridge was expensive, and scholarships didn’t cover it all. So, Kathy and I picked up odd jobs wherever we could. Eventually, we saved enough to open a tiny bakery just off campus. We both worked there, seven days a week, side by side.

For the first time, I felt safe. I had a real home. Massachusetts became the home I never had. But now... I’m back. And the nerves are real. God help me.

Even after everything, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little excited to see my family again. Over the years, I left messages; birthday wishes, little updates, even Christmas cards. I never got a reply. I don’t even know if they ever listened or read them.

When I transferred to Harvard Medical four years ago, I needed a parent or guardian’s signature for my enrollment. I reached out; but nothing. No one bothered to return my calls. Thank God for Kathy. She applied to become my legal guardian, and from that moment, she was the only family I needed.

A few weeks ago, I left one last message. I told them I was graduating. That I was finally becoming a doctor. That if they wanted to come, they were welcome. They didn’t come, and no one even texted back. But now I’m here, and I plan to tell them in person: I graduated last week, and at seventeen years old, I’m officially a doctor. In a few weeks, I start my residency. Someday, I’ll become a cardiothoracic surgeon.

Fingers crossed... this goes well.

The only two people from New York who never gave up on me were Vincent and Gabby, my best friends since we were kids. Familia royalty, both of them. Even after I left, we stayed close. We started elementary school together. And somehow, we even ended up graduating at the same time. Me from medical school, them from high school.

I’m so deep in thought that I don’t notice my phone battery dying until the music cuts out. I reach into my bag, searching for my power bank, because obviously, I never leave home without backup.

That’s when Tommy pipes up from the driver’s seat, his voice dripping with that same slimy confidence I remember all too well. “Hey, Reens,” he says, casual as ever. “I’d really like to get to know you better. You’ve been gone so long and damn, you look fucking amazing. Maybe we could grab some drinks sometime, catch up?”

I freeze. Then, slowly, I lift my head. Staring at him in disbelief. Was he being serious. He tried to sexually assault me, tried to take naked pictures of me when I was 12 years old. Even being this close to him is bringing back my PTSD.

“Not a fucking chance,” I say. “First of all, I have zero interest in knowing you better than I already do. Second, I’m seventeen, so I don’t drink. And third, I’d rather remove my own kidneys with a rusty old butter knife than go on a date with you.”

His face falls.

Maybe I was a little harsh, but something about this situation isn’t sitting right with me. The moment my phone gets enough charge; it starts dinging nonstop. I glance at the screen. Over thirty-six missed calls and sixty-four texts. What the hell? All of them are from Vincent and Gabriella.

“Are you in New York?”

“Did you see what your sister is saying?”

“Let’s get together if you’re here.”

“Call us!”

“Be careful if you’re home.”

And more. So many more.

I quickly type a response: “Just landed about 30 minutes ago. Dad demanded I come home ASAP for Sophia’s wedding. Tommy Bianchi picked me up. Still as creepy as ever. I’ll call you guys once I get to my parents’ place and settle in.”

The replies come instantly.

Vincent:

“Don’t trust him. Stay alert.”

Gabby:

“We really need to talk ASAP. Don’t trust him, your parents, and especially not your sister. Get home and call us.”

My stomach knots. Something is very, very wrong.

The car slows, turning into the long driveway of the mansion I once called home. It looks... smaller than I remember. Or maybe I just got bigger. I know I am older and wiser.

Tommy jumps out first, jogging around to my side and yanking the door open like he’s doing me some favor. He extends a hand. “Here you go, Reens.”

“Thanks, Tommy, but you don’t need to be chivalrous,” I say, brushing past him and stepping out on my own. I sling my bag over my shoulder, then shoot him a fake smile. “Oh! Could you grab my suitcases from the trunk?”

He nods and hurries to the back of the car. Idiot. He should know I don’t have any luggage. If I did, he would’ve loaded it. But I don’t say anything. I just didn’t want him anywhere near me.

I push the thought aside, clutch my things, and start up the walkway toward the house.

“Wait up, Reens! I’ll walk with you!” he calls, still fumbling to open the empty trunk.

“Nah,” I toss over my shoulder, already halfway to the front door. “I’ll just meet you up there. I’m really excited to see Mom.”

Before he can say another word, I break into a jog.