I WISH I could go back to the girl I was a month ago, who was only trying to save her family from bankruptcy.Not from their murder.Sitting on the floor of my bedroom, I rest my back against the side of my bed as light streams underneath my closed door. I twist the engagement ring around my finger, embracing the pointless warmth it gives me.Damien and I can't be. But I still put it on the instant I got back, allowing myself to pretend for a while longer that the world believes we're newly engaged and we're unveiling the most anticipated microchip of the twenty-first century.But that can never happen. Tomorrow, Damien will be alone on the stage, his father watching with satisfied eyes as he tells the audience it's Bass Mobile who wins the prize for an entire year. Their stocks will skyrocket, their phones soon reigning supreme, and its users will never know the danger they slip into their pockets.My phone rings on the floor next to me, shining a familiar face I’ve grown to love on

THESE WALLS NEVER BUILT A HOME.They built a cage.My steps across my family's estate’s hallways are slow, my eyes wandering to key destinations of my childhood that would always spark awful memories.Because, when I normally pass by the archway that leads to the kitchen, I wouldn't see it as the beautiful architecture that it is. I would see my mother's last act of rebellion, struggling against my father's hold on her, before she received the final blow that turned her into the mindless aristocrat she is now. All the genuine joy expressed through her love of dance—gone.And when I'd near my father's study, I would hear Sterling's small cries as he banged against the door that always proved to be permanently closed. Often, it was me he'd hear inside, not getting much better treatment, until some maid would sweep him off his feet to carry him back to his room.But on this day, I don't see the house the same way. Right now, it seems fragile to me. Like glass.My steps quicken, with one

HANNAH - 5 YEARS LATER"Are you... crying?"Sofia avoids my stare. Her head angles down towards the stage directlybelow us, to the ballerina twirling in circles on her toes in the hands of her partner. Wearing a white tutu, her brows droop downwards in an expression of pure drama and struggle."No." More sniffles."Oh my god... You are." After shooting me a stern look and retrieving a fresh handkerchief from her purse, she returns to craning over the side of the gold box railing. "And to think, only yesterday, you didn't want to come. Said it'd be too boring."She ignores me, her eyes widening when fog floats from the corners of the stage, the intense music growing ever louder.I don't blame her. I was skeptical about attending my first ballet show, too. But now I understand and appreciate its beauty, in a similar way when Damien plays the piano for me when we're alone. I can recognize the same thrill and excitement in his features as the dancers below.Tonight's performance of Swan