MayaIt had been a month since I returned home.The house was the same—still pristine, cold, filled with high-end furniture and emptiness. My room hadn't changed either, except now it felt smaller. Tighter. Like the walls were quietly closing in on me.My father didn't say much. Not when I walked through the door. Not when I sat across from him at dinner. He only said, "You'll be more careful next time."Next time. Like I was a package that had gone missing. Like none of it even mattered.My mother, on the other hand, had words. Plenty of them."I hope you're happy," she had said that first night, standing at the foot of my bed. Her arms crossed. Her hair perfectly pinned like always. "Do you know what your little runaway stunt did to me? I can't even show my face at brunch without being whispered about like a joke. I told the Wilshires you were ill. Do not make a liar out of me again, Maya."And that was that.Now, the days passed in a blur of fake smiles, long dinners, and walking t
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