Chapter 2: The Arrival

Now, I sat on the edge of the twin bed in the dusty upstairs guest room—the same room they made me sleep in as a kid whenever “important” relatives visited. I was wearing a wrinkled t-shirt I found at the bottom of my suitcase and a pair of jeans with holes I didn’t remember buying.

The rehearsal dinner was in three hours.

The house below me was chaos. It was the specific, frantic energy of a wedding weekend. I could hear hair dryers blasting like jet engines. Bridesmaids were yelling about misplaced jewelry. My brother Brandon was laughing too loudly downstairs, a booming, artificial sound he used when he was trying too hard to impress his fiancé’s wealthy family.

None of them noticed I hadn’t come down since the incident. None of them noticed I’d gone silent.

I checked my phone. Two minutes out.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. I walked to the mirror one last time. The woman staring back wasn’t the scared eight-year-old anymore. She was tired, yes. She was angry, absolutely. But she wasn’t alone.

When the doorbell rang, it cut through the noise of the house.