Chapter 3

I laughed until tears streamed down my face. The absurdity of it was too much. Sharing him. Like he was a toy and she was the benevolent older sister offering me a turn.

"You are unbelievable," I finally gasped, wiping my eyes. "Truly."

Kristen flinched as if I'd slapped her. "I was just trying to help."

"No, you weren't," I said, my voice turning cold. "You've been 'helping' your whole life. I remember when I first came here. You'd 'help' me by giving me your old clothes, then telling your friends I had no taste. You'd 'help' me with homework, then take credit for my good grades. You've never done a single thing for me that didn't benefit you more."

"That's a horrible thing to say!" Alice cried out, clutching Kristen protectively.

"It's the truth," I said, turning my back on them. "I'm done. I'm getting my things and I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" Kristen's voice was sharp with panic. The tears vanished instantly. "You can't leave! Who's going to pay the mortgage next month?"

The question hung in the air, raw and selfish. It was the only thing she truly cared about. Not my pain. Not the betrayal. The money.

"You've got a rich fiancé now," I said over my shoulder as I walked toward the stairs. "Get him to pay for it."

"You get back here!" the Colonel roared. "You're not going anywhere until you apologize to your sister!"

I ignored him and started up the stairs. My room was at the end of the hall, a small, cramped space that had once been a storage closet. My few possessions wouldn't take long to pack.

As I reached the top of the stairs, my mother's voice, suddenly soft and pleading, stopped me.

"Faith, honey, wait."

I paused but didn't turn around.

"Don't do this," Alice said, her voice trembling. "We were just upset. We didn't mean those things. Your father is just... protective of Kristen."

I remained silent. It was a familiar tactic. The explosion, followed by the soft, manipulative apology. It had worked a hundred times before.

"We love you, Faith," she said, the lie sounding thin and worn. "We were so lost when you were gone. We searched for you for years. Don't leave us again. It would kill me."

The performance was almost convincing. But tonight, I had seen behind the curtain.

"You told me you never took a vacation for ten years because you were using every penny to search for me," I said, my voice flat. "You said you couldn't bear the thought of enjoying yourselves while I was missing."

"That's true, darling," she said eagerly. "Every single day was agony."

I turned around slowly. "Funny. Because when I was packing some old boxes in the attic last month, I found a photo album. It was full of pictures from your trip to Hawaii in '05. Your cruise to the Bahamas in '08. Your ski trip to Aspen in '11. You both look so... agonized."

Alice's face froze. The color drained from it. The Colonel looked away, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"You lied," I said simply. "You lied about everything."

"You don't understand..." Alice stammered.

"Oh, I understand perfectly now," I said. "I wasn't a lost daughter you grieved for. I was an embarrassing problem you had solved. And when I showed up again, I became a new problem. A source of income and a convenient scapegoat."

"How dare you!" the Colonel bellowed, his face turning red again. "We gave you a second chance!"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "You gave Kristen a second chance. At my expense."

"Faith, please," Kristen begged, her voice taking on that whiny, pleading tone she used when she wanted something. "Don't do this. Mom and Dad are just stressed. Think about my wedding! The Griffins will ask questions if you're not there. It will look bad."

It was always about how things looked.

"You should have thought of that before you stole my boyfriend," I said, turning away again. "I'm getting my money, and I'm getting my life back."

My mother started to cry then, loud, theatrical sobs designed to break me down. "My own daughter, accusing me of such things! After I suffered for so many years! I almost died from a broken heart!"

I had heard this story a thousand times. The story of the grieving mother. I used to cry with her, hold her hand, and promise I would never leave her again.

Tonight, I felt nothing. The well of my sympathy had run dry.

"I don't owe you anything," I said, my voice hard. "My debt is paid. I worked for ten years, surviving things you can't even imagine. I came here and worked for you. I paid for your comfort with my pain. We're even."

I looked at the three of them, a perfect, miserable little tableau of lies and greed.

"I'm not part of this family," I said, the realization settling over me with a strange sense of peace. "I'm just the ghost who pays the bills."