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“Waiting for your return.” His voice hides a sneer.
“Aren’t you happy I’m home?”
“Not like this.”
My heart deflates from the shot of hope I felt when I saw him just minutes ago. Sadness prevails.
Cameron is on his phone the entire ride. As we leave the city behind, a familiar road opens in front of us. Green, majestic trees line each side.
When I was little, I thought my parents were a king and a queen, ruling over a kingdom. The land my father owns is still as wide and majestic as ever. The wrought-iron gates swing open and the driver proceeds down the driveway. Security guards are plastered here and there.
Home. Or it used to be.
Marie, the longtime house manager, waves at me from the top of the marble stairs. Behind her, the imposing mansion of cement and marble rises from the ground. Home, and still it doesn’t hold the warmth I felt as a child. It’s just walls, surrounded by so much land.
The nearest neighbor is a mile away.
I think abouthim, my silly forbidden crush. I have loved my brother’s best friend for as long as I can remember.
Shaking my wayward thoughts, I jump from the car and straight into Marie’s arms. “My sweet child. Finally, you’re home.”
A few tears slide down the deep lines in her face and she presses me to her as if to shield me.
“Your father is waiting for you.”
The brief moment of serenity flies away as I nod and follow her. I glance back, only to see my brother leaving, but not before he tips his chin, a sign letting me knoweverything will be all right.
“Your father is in his office,” Marie informs me.
With every step down the long hallway, I take in the paintings and the art. Nothing has truly changed since I left, except there is not one picture of my mother. Every trace of her existence was wiped away. Marie knocks and his gruff voice has me tripping over my feet. I catch myself quickly and step inside.
My father is dressed in a bespoke suit. I don’t think I have ever seen him without one. After seven years, some grays pepper his dark brown hair. The lines around his eyes are more prominent. He leans back and steeples his fingers over his mouth, a frown splitting his bushy brows.
He stops me with a stare, my feet rooting where I stand.
“You still look just like her,” he says, disgust rolling over every syllable. “This will make things even easier.”
I force myself to say something, but nothing comes out.
“Go to your room. I’ll see you at dinner.” He dismisses me with a wave of his hand.
I retreat. With every passing minute, I miss my safe place back at school.
I trace a finger up the curved stairway, Marie trailing behind like a somber shadow looming over me. She has been quiet since my father’s reaction to seeing me.
Back in my old room, I catch the lights dancing on the wide windows, trapping the late afternoon rays. I flop onto my queen-sized bed.
“It’s all the same.”
“Just as you left it, my child.”
“You know I didn’t leave it.”
She sits next to me and pats my hand with hers. “I’m happy you’re back. You are even more beautiful than I imagined you’d be.”
I catch my reflection in the mirror secured to the ornate closet door. What does beautiful even mean? Blue eyes with golden notes, straight blond hair that runs down my back, skin the sun loves to turn red.
“Maybe if I didn’t look like my mother, he wouldn’t hate me so much.” I take my eyes away from my reflection and stare at my fingers.
