Chapter 2

The old truck kicked up dust as Ethan Cole sped into my hometown.

He hadn't changed much in three years, still arrogant, still impatient.

He skidded to a halt before my family's house, a small, paint-peeling box that held all my childhood memories.

He didn't knock.

The old wooden door splintered under his expensive shoe.

I drifted in behind him, a cold dread washing over me.

Maria was in the kitchen, her back to the door, humming softly.

David, my brother, sat at the table, his prosthetic leg stretched out. He looked older, wearier.

"Sarah!" Ethan's voice was a whip crack. "Where the hell are you?"

Maria turned, her hand flying to her chest. David was on his feet, or rather, his one good foot, his crutch clattering.

"Who are you?" David's voice was low, dangerous.

"I'm Ethan Cole. Sarah's husband. Now tell me where she's hiding."

Maria stepped forward, her eyes wide with a fear I knew too well.

"Sarah... Sarah is not here."

"Don't play games with me, old woman. Tiffany needs her. Now."

David moved to stand in front of Maria. "You need to leave."

"Not without Sarah. I know she's here. She's probably put you up to this, trying to sabotage Tiffany."

"Sarah is dead," David said, his voice flat, final.

Ethan laughed, a harsh, ugly sound.

"Dead? Nice try. She's too dramatic for that. She's just being difficult."

"She died three years ago," Maria whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "The day of that... that party."

Ethan's face darkened. "You're lying. Both of you."

He saw it then, on the mantelpiece. A small, framed photo of me, smiling, from a time before him, before the darkness.

His hand shot out.

The frame shattered on the floor, glass skittering across the worn linoleum.

"No!" Maria cried out.

I screamed, a silent, tearing sound that only I could hear. My image, broken, just like I had been.