Chapter 1: Twelve Hours to Leave
“Your twelve hours started the moment you walked through that door, Emily. If you’re still here tomorrow morning, I’ll have your things thrown onto the lawn.””
My stepmother said it while standing at the top of the stairs, holding my favorite sweater between two fingers like it was something filthy.
Below her, my suitcase lay open on the hardwood floor.
My jeans were scattered beside the front door. My schoolbooks had spilled beneath the console table. One of my sneakers had landed halfway down the hall, its lace caught beneath the leg of an antique chair my mother had bought before she died.
For several seconds, I couldn't move.
I was seventeen years old. I had lived in that house since I was five. I knew which stair creaked, which kitchen cabinet stuck in humid weather, and exactly how the afternoon sunlight fell across my bedroom wall.
That room had been the only place in the world that still felt like my mother.
Now my stepmother, Vanessa, was standing in its doorway with a roll of measuring tape hanging from her wrist.
“What's happening?”” I asked.
Vanessa sighed as if I'd interrupted something important.
“Madison is getting your room.””
My fifteen-year-old stepsister appeared behind her, wearing my mother's old pearl earrings. Madison had taken them from the jewelry box I kept locked in my dresser, and she knew I had noticed.
She smiled anyway.
“Mom says the guest room is too small for my vanity,” Madison said.
“And your closet is twice the size of mine.””
I looked from her to Vanessa.
“You can't just give her my bedroom.””
Vanessa folded my sweater over her arm.
“Actually, I can. This is my home, too.””
“Dad would never agree to this.””
That made Madison laugh.
“Daddy's little princess thinks she owns the place.””
“I didn't say I owned anything!””
“You don't have to,” Madison replied.
“You act like everything belongs to you just because your dead mother lived here.””
The words struck harder than she intended. Or perhaps she intended every syllable.
I swallowed and looked at Vanessa.
“Please. At least wait until Dad gets home.””
“He has a business dinner,” Vanessa said.
“He won't be home until late.””
“Then let me talk to him on the phone.””
“No.””
She said it so quickly that I stared at her.
“Why not?””
“Because I'm tired of your constant attempts to undermine me. You think your father married me just to have someone cook his meals?””
“I never said that.””
“You don't need to say it. Your face does all the talking.””
Madison disappeared into my room.
A second later, something crashed.
I ran upstairs.
She was standing beside my dresser, throwing my clothes over the railing one handful at a time. A pair of jeans fluttered down the stairs. My favorite blue cardigan followed.
“Madison, stop!””
She grabbed my schoolbag.
“Maybe I'll keep this. You won't need it when you're living in the basement.””
She flung it over the railing.
My chemistry textbook hit the floor with a heavy slap. Loose papers scattered like frightened birds.
I rushed past Vanessa and caught Madison's wrist just as she reached for a framed photograph on my dresser.
“Don't touch that!””
She jerked away.
“Get off me!””
The photograph showed my mother and me sitting on the back porch, my small arms wrapped around her waist. I had been six, missing my two front teeth and laughing at something outside the frame.
It was the last photograph we had taken together before cancer took her.
Madison held it up.
“Why do you keep this creepy old picture on display?””
“Give it back.””
“It's just a picture.””
“It's my mother!””
Vanessa stepped between us and snatched the frame from Madison.
“Enough.””
For one foolish second, I thought she was going to end the argument.
Instead, she walked downstairs, crossed the kitchen, and dropped the photograph into the trash can.
The frame struck a paper plate. Coffee grounds slid across the glass.
My breath caught.
I hurried after her and reached into the garbage.
“Your mother is dead, Emily,” Vanessa said.
“You need to stop using her memory to get whatever you want.””
I pulled the photograph free, my fingers trembling as I wiped the coffee from my mother's smiling face.
“That's the only picture I have of us together,” I whispered.
Vanessa opened the refrigerator.
“Then perhaps you should have taken better care of it.””
Something inside me went quiet.
I stood there with the ruined photograph pressed against my chest, realizing that this wasn't really about a closet or a vanity.
Vanessa wanted me to understand that nothing in the house was safe from her—not my belongings, not my memories, and certainly not my place in my father's life.
I reached for my phone.
“I'm calling Dad.””
Vanessa spun around.
Before I could unlock the screen, she ripped the phone from my hand.
“YOU ARE NOT CALLING YOUR FATHER!””
“Give it back!””
She ended the call before it connected and slipped my phone into her pocket.
“You will not disturb him with your pathetic complaints,” she said.
“He works hard enough without coming home to another one of your little performances.””
Madison leaned against the kitchen doorway, studying the photograph in my hands.
Then her gaze shifted toward the stairs.
“Mom,” she said casually, “should we throw away the wooden box under her bed, too?””
My fingers tightened around the frame.
“No.””
Vanessa's eyes narrowed.
“What box?””
I took a step backward.
“It's mine.””
“Everything in that room is being moved.””
“Not that.””
Madison's smile widened.
“Oh, now I'm curious.””
She darted upstairs.
I ran after her, but Vanessa caught my arm and held me in place long enough for Madison to reach my bedroom.
When I finally pulled free, Madison was already dragging a small wooden box from beneath my bed.
The box was dark walnut, with a brass latch and a faint scratch across the lid. My father had given it to me six months after my mother died.
He had knelt beside my bed that night and told me never to lose it.
“Your mother left you something important,” he'd whispered.
“When you're older, you'll understand.””
I had never opened it.
I had promised him I wouldn't.
Madison flipped the latch.
May you like
“Let's see what Daddy's been hiding.””
And when Vanessa saw what was inside, the color drained from her face.
