Chapter 3

I walked home slowly, the sirens growing louder as they converged on the school I had just fled. The neighborhood was quiet, with people still at work, unaware of the horror unfolding just a few blocks away. When I reached my front door, I hesitated for a moment, then pushed it open.

The scene inside was one of perfect domestic bliss. My mother, Olivia, was in the kitchen, laughing. Ethan was sitting at the counter, showing her something on his phone. He was seventeen, a year younger than me, with a boyish face that he used to his full advantage.

"And then he just tripped over his own feet! It was hilarious," Ethan said, grinning.

"Oh, my poor boy, you must have been so embarrassed for him," Olivia said, her voice filled with a syrupy adoration that always made my stomach turn. She tousled his hair, her smile wide and genuine. It was a smile I hadn' t seen directed at me in years.

Then she looked up and saw me standing in the doorway.

Her smile vanished instantly, replaced by a familiar, tight-lipped frown. Her entire posture changed. Her shoulders stiffened, and her eyes narrowed.

"Liam. Where have you been? You were supposed to be studying with Sarah."

Her voice was cold, accusatory.

"I came home to get a book I forgot," I said, the lie coming easily.

"You' re always forgetting something," she snapped. "Why can' t you be more organized, more like Ethan? He never forgets anything. He' s responsible."

I just stood there, my face a blank mask. I didn't argue. I didn't defend myself. I let the words wash over me. It was always like this. Everything I did was wrong. Everything Ethan did was right. I was the constant disappointment, he was the golden child.

I could feel Ethan' s smirk without even looking at him. He enjoyed this. He thrived on it.

Suddenly, the landline on the kitchen wall rang, its shrill sound cutting through the tension.

Olivia answered it, her tone still annoyed. "Hello? This is Dr. Vance."

I watched her face as she listened. Her frown deepened, but it was a frown of confusion, not concern.

"What do you mean? A shooting? That' s not possible... No, my daughter is Sarah Miller. She' s in the library... Yes, I understand."

Her face paled. She dropped the phone into its cradle, her hand shaking slightly.

"There was a shooting at the high school," she said, her voice a strained whisper. "They said... they said Sarah might be one of the victims."

Ethan' s eyes widened in fake shock. "Oh my god! Sarah!"

Olivia grabbed her car keys from the hook by the door. "We have to go. Now."

She rushed out, Ethan right behind her, already playing the part of the concerned brother. I followed them silently, a shadow in their wake.

The drive to the school was a blur of panicked traffic and the blare of our own car horn. When we arrived, the scene was chaotic. Police cars and ambulances choked the streets, their lights flashing in a dizzying, sickening rhythm. Yellow tape cordoned off the entire campus.

I saw my father, David, standing near the tape, his face ashen. My grandparents were with him, my grandmother weeping into my grandfather' s shoulder.

They saw our car pull up. They saw Olivia and Ethan jump out. And then they saw me, getting out of the back seat.

My grandfather' s face contorted with rage. He pointed a trembling finger at me.

"You!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "You were supposed to be with her! You were supposed to be studying with her! Where were you? Why wasn' t she with you?"

My grandmother looked up, her tear-streaked face a mask of fury. "If anything happens to her, it' s your fault, Liam! Your fault!"

My father just stared at me, his eyes filled with a terrible, silent accusation.

I stood there, surrounded by them, the wave of their blame crashing over me. It was exactly like before. The exact same words, the exact same hatred. Last time, I had tried to save her, and I was the cause of her death. This time, I had saved myself, and I was still the cause of her death.

It was a perfect, inescapable trap. And for the first time, seeing it from the outside, I didn't feel despair. I felt a strange, cold clarity. No matter what I did, I was always going to be the villain in their story.

So be it.