Chapter 3

In the bottom of my duffel bag, under a worn-out t-shirt, was a small, framed photo. It was of me and Emily, taken at a university prep event a few months before everything fell apart. We were both smiling, the sun in our eyes. She had her arm around my shoulder in a friendly, encouraging way. I had kept it because, for a brief time, it represented the future I thought I would have, a future with supportive friends and mentors.

Now, looking at it under the dim light of my single-bulb lamp, it just felt like a monument to my own stupidity.

I remembered what she had said to me after I won a preliminary academic award. "You have a brilliant mind, Liam. Don't ever let anyone make you feel like that's not enough."

The irony was bitter. The people who made me feel like it wasn't enough were my own family. They didn't value my mind, they just saw it as a resource to be plundered for their favored son.

I carefully took the photo out of its cheap frame, tore it into small pieces, and dropped them into the overflowing trash can. It was a symbolic act. I had to erase every part of my old life, every weakness, every sentimental attachment. I couldn't afford a friend like Emily, not now. Her kindness was a liability. Her concern would only lead to questions I couldn't answer.

The family celebration for Noah must have happened by now. I could picture it perfectly. My parents, beaming with pride, standing next to Noah in a new suit they probably bought with the money they saved from my stolen scholarship. They would be at a fancy restaurant, raising glasses of champagne. They would toast to Noah' s bright future, the future built on my sacrifice.

The thought made my hands clench. They would be surrounded by their friends, other social-climbing families, all congratulating them on their wonderful, successful son. No one would ask about me. I was the inconvenient, ungrateful older son who had disappeared. They had probably spun a story about how I was troubled, how I couldn't handle the pressure. They were experts at managing their public image.

I forced myself to stop thinking about it. It was a waste of energy. I had more important things to do. I got up from my lumpy mattress and went back to my laptop. The code on the screen was my new family, my only focus.

One evening, my landlord knocked on my door. He was a gruff, overweight man named Sal who rarely spoke.

"Phone call for you," he grunted, holding out a greasy receiver. The building had a single payphone in the hallway.

My heart pounded. Who could possibly be calling me here?

"I don' t know anyone," I said.

"Said it was important. Said her name was Emily."

I froze. Emily. How did she find me? A cold dread filled my chest. I had been so careful.

Sal shrugged and handed me the phone. I took it with a trembling hand.

"Hello?"

"Liam? Oh, thank god. I found you." Emily' s voice was a mixture of relief and worry. "I' ve been calling every cheap rental in the city for a week. I was so worried about you."

"How did you get this number?" I asked, my voice flat.

"I have my ways," she said, and I remembered she was clever, resourceful. "Liam, what' s going on? Why did you disappear? Your parents told everyone you had some kind of breakdown."

Her words were a punch to the gut. Of course, that was their story. The troubled son. It painted them as concerned, loving parents, victims of my instability. It was perfect.

"I' m fine," I said, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth.

"You' re not fine. You' re living in a dump and you sound terrible," she shot back, her kindness now mixed with frustration. "And what about the scholarship? I talked to the admissions office. They said Noah Turner took your spot. Your brother. What happened, Liam?"

The memory of her kindness was a painful echo. I remembered her helping me with my application essays, her genuine belief in me. In my past life, I would have broken down, I would have told her everything. I would have clung to her sympathy like a drowning man.

Not this time.

"It' s a family matter," I said, my voice cold and distant. "It has nothing to do with you."

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. I could feel the hurt in her silence.

"I' m sorry," I said, my voice softening slightly against my will. "I have to go."

I hung up the phone before she could reply. I handed it back to a curious-looking Sal and walked back to my room, my heart a heavy stone in my chest. I sat on my bed, the cheap mattress groaning under my weight. The small room felt even more like a prison cell.

I had to do that. I had to push her away. Her involvement would only complicate things. It would bring unwanted attention. I was on a dark path, and I had to walk it alone.

The pain of her hurt voice was sharp, but I forced it down, burying it with all the other emotions I couldn't afford to feel. I turned back to my laptop. The cursor blinked on the screen, patient and unassuming.

It was my only friend now. The only thing that wouldn't betray me.

A few days later, a letter was slipped under my door. It was from the university. My stomach clenched. Had Emily done something?

I tore it open. It was a formal notice. My official withdrawal had been processed. However, due to a clerical error, a final tuition deposit I had paid months ago had not been refunded. A check for a few hundred dollars was enclosed.

I stared at the check. It was a small amount, but to me, it was a lifeline. It was also a bitter reminder of the life I had been forced to abandon. My parents had never bothered to get this money back. They probably didn't even know about it. Or they didn't care. It was just another piece of my existence they had erased.

Suddenly, a sharp, angry voice yelled from the hallway. "Where is he? Where is Liam Turner?"

My blood ran cold. It was my father's voice.