Chapter 4

Dad, Mark, was usually level-headed. He looked from Mom' s distressed face to my unyielding one.

"Sarah," he said, his voice calm but serious. "This is a strong stance. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, Dad," I replied, meeting his gaze directly. I couldn't tell him why, not yet. He wouldn't believe the truth of my rebirth. "It's just not a good time for me, for us."

He studied me for a long moment. He knew me, knew I wasn't usually selfish or cold. Perhaps my uncharacteristic firmness registered as something more than just teenage whim.

"Alright," he said finally, turning to Mom. "Linda, if Sarah feels this strongly, we should respect that. It's her home too."

Mom looked heartbroken, tears welling in her eyes. "But Mark, where will she go?"

"We're not abandoning her," I interjected quickly, seizing the opening Dad had given me. "We can offer financial support. Significant financial support. There are other relatives, aren't there?"

Aunt Carol sniffed. "Well, there's Patty and Ben in Nevada. My estranged brother. They haven't spoken to our side of the family in years. I doubt they'd be willing."

"Let's call them," I urged. "Offer them a generous monthly payment for taking Jessica in. Enough to make it worth their while. More than worth it."

Dad nodded slowly. "It's a practical solution."

The call was made. Aunt Patty was, as expected, initially very reluctant. She complained about her small house, her own kids, her tight budget.

Then Dad mentioned the amount we were prepared to send each month.

A substantial sum. Enough to ease any financial burden and then some.

Patty' s tone changed remarkably quickly.

"Well," she said, a new warmth in her voice. "For family, I suppose we could make some room. The poor dear, losing her parents like that."

Jessica, who had been listening with an expression of pure, hopeful pleading directed at my parents, went rigid. Her eyes, when they met mine, were no longer tearful. They were cold, filled with a seething rage that she quickly tried to mask.

She knew she was losing her primary target – our comfortable home, our direct assets.

But she had no choice. The social worker, present for the discussion, agreed it was a viable placement given the financial assurances.

Within a few hours, arrangements were made. Jessica would fly to Nevada the next day.

As she was leaving with the social worker to spend one night in a temporary foster home before her flight, Jessica paused at the door.

She looked back at me, a small, forced smile on her lips.

"Thank you, Sarah," she said, her voice syrupy sweet. "For thinking of me."

But her eyes promised something else entirely.

I felt a shiver, despite the immediate victory. This wasn't over.