Chapter 3

3.

In this giant glass house, I lived like a ghost.

Richard required absolute silence. Even the butler walked like he was stepping on cotton. Mom was busy all day trying to please him: booking spa appointments, overseeing dinner menus, pretending to care about the Bloomberg news he watched.

She didn't act like the lady of the house; she acted like a high-end personal assistant.

Except for dinner, I spent almost all my time in the sunroom. I cleared a space and dragged an Eames chair to the window. I sat there for hours like a nursing home resident, greedily absorbing every inch of UV light.

Sometimes, when Richard walked past the door, he would stop and look. He never spoke, but his look was strange. Like a hunter recognizing a wound on another animal.

One day at lunch, my phone vibrated on the glass dining table, making an annoying buzzing sound.

In the dining room, where the only sound was cutlery hitting china, it sounded like a siren.

Richard set down his wine glass, frowning. Mom immediately dropped her fork and glared at me.

"Is this how I raised you? Phones at the table? Turn it off."

I glanced at the screen. It was Emma.

I hung up.

Two seconds later, it rang again. I hung up again.

The third time, Richard threw his napkin on the table. "Answer it. The noise is giving me a migraine."

I took the phone to the terrace.

Before I could even speak, Emma’s shrill voice exploded in my ear.

"Did you steal Dad’s bank card PIN? The account is short five thousand dollars. He says you definitely did it!"

I moved the phone away from my ear, staring at the grey water of the Long Island Sound.

"What account?"

"Don’t play dumb! Dad needed that money to win back his losses, and you stole it. Transfer it to me right now, or I’m telling Mom you’re a thief!"

In the background, I could hear Mick roaring and the sound of glass shattering. "That ungrateful little bitch! Should have never kept her!"

These sounds used to be the soundtrack of my childhood, suffocating me. Now, hundreds of miles away, they sounded like lines from a bad soap opera.

"I didn’t take it," I said calmly. "That was my tip money from waitressing at the diner all summer. It’s my money."

"Once you walk through the door, it’s family money! Dad is broke, and you’re living in a mansion. Send the money!"

"If you don’t, I’ll email your school and tell everyone what a selfish freak you are."

I looked at the perfectly pruned roses in the garden. They were red as blood.

"Emma, you chose this path. Enjoy it."

"Don't call me again."

I hung up and blocked the number.

As I turned around, I felt a warm wetness on my upper lip. I touched it―bright red.

I frantically pulled tissues from my pocket, pressing them to my nose and tilting my head back. The blood was flowing hard, pouring down into my throat. The metallic taste made me gag.

I rushed into the first-floor guest bathroom.

In the mirror, my face was covered in blood. I looked like a victim fleeing a crime scene.

I turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face frantically.

"What are you doing?"

I froze. In the mirror, Richard was leaning against the doorframe, holding his scotch.

He stared at my bloody face and the shocking red puddle in the sink.

I wiped my face messily with my sleeve. "Nosebleed. The New England air is too dry."

Richard didn’t speak. He walked over and handed me a beautifully embroidered hand towel. "Use this."

"Thanks."

He watched the pink water swirl down the drain. "Does this happen often?"

"Occasionally."

A lie. It was happening more and more. Third time this week.

Richard’s unfathomable gaze lingered on my face. "You should see a doctor."

"I’m fine."

I tried to slip past him sideways.

"Chloe."

I stopped.

"In this house, you don’t have to live like a frightened mouse. Your mother is your mother, and you are you."

I looked up at him, surprised. His tone was still cold, but there was something else in his words.

"If you’re in pain, say so. Suffering in silence doesn't earn you a medal in this world."

He turned and left, leaving behind the faint scent of cedar and... hospital antiseptic.