Chapter 2

My mother arranged everything. The plan was for me to spend one final week at the Thompson mansion to recover my strength and say my goodbyes. It was a courtesy, a way to close a twenty-year chapter of my life without burning the bridge with Mrs. Thompson, who had always been kind to me.

I arrived back at the sprawling estate feeling like a ghost. The place that had been my home was now just a house, full of memories that had turned sour.

I was in the garden, looking at the lily-of-the-valley patch I had painstakingly cultivated over the years. They were my favorite flowers, a small piece of beauty that was all mine.

Suddenly, a blast of cold water hit me from behind. I gasped, stumbling forward, soaked to the skin.

I turned to see Sarah standing there, holding a garden hose, a triumphant smirk on her face.

"Oops," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "My hand slipped."

She then turned the hose on my lily-of-the-valley, the powerful jet of water tearing the delicate white bells from their stems, churning the soil into a muddy mess.

"These are ugly anyway," she declared, dropping the hose. "I told Mark I want roses here. Red ones. They' re so much more romantic."

I just stood there, shivering, watching the destruction of the one thing I truly loved in that garden.

Mark and David came out onto the patio. They saw me, dripping and muddy, and the ruined flowerbed. They didn' t say a word to Sarah.

Instead, David sneered at me. "Look at you. Can' t even stand in a garden without making a mess."

Mark just shook his head in disappointment, as if I were a misbehaving child. He wrapped an arm around Sarah, pulling her close. "Don' t worry, sweetheart. We' ll get you your roses."

My stomach, still tender from the hospital, clenched in a familiar, painful knot. I remembered a time when I' d scraped my knee in this very garden, and Mark had carried me all the way inside, scolding me gently for being careless while David ran to get the first-aid kit. That care, that concern, was gone. It had been transferred, wholesale, to Sarah.

Later, I walked inside, my wet clothes clinging to my skin. I found my path to the stairs blocked.

All of my belongings-my clothes, my books, my photo albums-were piled in a messy heap in the hallway.

Mark was there, with Sarah tucked under his arm. He looked at the pile, then at me, his expression cold.

"Sarah needs more closet space," he said, his voice flat. "We' ve moved your things. You' ll be staying in the guest room at the end of the hall from now on."

"And you won' t be needing your office at the company anymore," he continued, not a flicker of remorse in his eyes. "Sarah' s going to take over your duties. Your new position is in the mailroom. You can start on Monday."

My role in the company, a position I had earned with my degree and hard work, was being handed to a housekeeper' s daughter with no experience, just because she had their affection.

My eyes scanned the pile of my life, discarded in the hallway. I saw my childhood teddy bear, a worn, one-eyed thing that David had won for me at a carnival when we were ten.

As if following my gaze, David walked over, picked up the bear, and held it up.

"What' s this old thing?" he asked, a cruel grin playing on his lips. He looked at Sarah. "Are you scared of it, sweetheart?"

Sarah let out a little shriek and hid her face in Mark' s chest. "It' s so creepy!"

With a dramatic flourish, David tore the bear' s head off. The stuffing exploded outwards like a sad, white cloud. He then ripped off its arms and legs, tossing the mangled pieces onto the pile with a laugh.

"There," he said to Sarah. "The monster is gone."

He kicked the bear' s head, sending it rolling across the polished floor until it stopped at my feet.

I looked down at the familiar, button eye staring up at me. Twenty years of memories, torn apart in seconds, just to amuse a girl they had known for a few months.

That was it. The final thread of affection I had for them snapped.

I calmly looked up from the destroyed bear. I met Mark' s cold eyes.

"That' s alright," I said, my voice steady and devoid of emotion. "I won' t be needing the guest room. Or the job in the mailroom."

I bent down, picked up a single, clean shirt from the pile, and held it.

"I' ll be moving out. And I' m resigning from the company, effective immediately."

Mark scoffed, a look of utter disbelief on his face. "Moving out? Where are you going to go? Don' t be ridiculous, Olivia. You' re a parasite. You' ve lived off our family' s charity your whole life. You wouldn' t survive a week without us."

I didn' t argue. I didn' t defend myself. I just walked past him, heading for the door.

As I passed him, I paused.

"There won' t be a next time," I said quietly, not to him, but to myself.

I walked out of the house, leaving the entire pile of my past life lying in the hallway. I didn' t look back.