Chapter 2

The shock was a physical thing, a cold weight in my stomach. I looked from Gabrielle' s smug face to my mother' s panicked one.

"Rent?" I finally managed to say.

"Of course, rent," Gabrielle repeated, louder this time, as if I were slow. "You think you can just show up with your fancy car and live here for free? We have a baby on the way. We have expenses."

I looked at my mother. "Mom?"

Maria wrung her hands, avoiding my eyes. "Gabrielle is just… worried, dear. With the baby…"

I decided to let it go, for now. There was clearly a massive misunderstanding, and a public argument wasn't the way to solve it. I' d talk to my mother and Anthony in private.

"Okay," I said, my voice tight. "I' m tired from the drive. I' m just going to go up to my old room."

I turned to head inside, but my mother' s voice stopped me.

"Oh, honey. That' s… that' s Caleb and Gabrielle' s room now."

I spun around. "What? The master bedroom? Why?"

"Well," Maria stammered, "Gabrielle' s pregnancy… she needs the bigger space. And the en-suite bathroom. It' s more convenient for her. You understand."

I didn' t understand. I felt a hot flash of anger. I had designed that room. I had picked out the furniture, the paint, the view of the oak tree in the backyard. It was my sanctuary when I came home for holidays.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet.

"We set up the guest room for you! It' s perfectly lovely," my mother said with that same forced cheer. "I' ll sort it all out, Annabel. Don' t you worry."

But I was worried. This wasn' t the homecoming I had imagined. The simple, honest life I craved was already feeling complicated and ugly.

Later that night, after Caleb and Gabrielle had gone to bed in my room, I cornered my mother and Anthony in the kitchen.

"What the hell is going on?" I demanded, keeping my voice low. "Why does Gabrielle think she can charge me rent for a house I own?"

Anthony, my kind, supportive stepfather, suddenly looked shifty. He stared at his worn-out boots. Maria just looked at him, her eyes pleading.

"Tony, you have to tell her," she whispered.

He finally looked up, his eyes swimming with tears. It was a performance I' d seen before, usually when he needed money.

"Annie, I' m so sorry," he began, his voice thick with emotion. "When my business failed… we had nothing. Gabrielle' s family… they' re well-off, you know. They didn' t want her marrying into a family with no prospects."

He took a shaky breath. "So I told them… I told them the house was in Caleb' s name. A gift from his successful sister. It was the only way they' d approve of the marriage. It was to secure your brother' s happiness."

The lie was so audacious, so completely self-serving, that I almost laughed. They had used my gift, my generosity, as a prop in their pathetic social climbing.

"And you just let them believe that?" I asked, my voice incredulous.

"We had to, Annie," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. He played his trump card. "I did it for family. Just like I did for you. Remember? After your father died, who paid for your college education? I did. I made sure you had every opportunity."

The rage that had been simmering inside me went cold. That was the deepest lie of all. My biological father, a brilliant but ill-fated engineer, had died in a workplace accident when I was ten. He had left a trust fund specifically for my education. Anthony had never paid a single dime. He and my mother had lived off the interest for years.

I looked at this man, this weeping, manipulative stranger, and I saw him clearly for the first time.

"That' s a lie, Anthony," I said, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. "My father' s trust paid for my school. You know that."

His face fell. The fake tears dried up instantly.

"You need to fix this," I continued, my tone leaving no room for argument. "You will tell Gabrielle and her family the truth. And then, you all need to make arrangements to move out."

My mother gasped. "Annabel! Where would we go?"

I was already a step ahead. "You can move into my father' s old house. The one on Elm Street. It' s smaller, but it' s yours, rent-free. I' ll even pay to have it fixed up. But this house… this house is mine. You have one month."

They stared at me, their faces a mixture of shock and resentment. The illusion of our happy family had just been shattered, and the pieces were sharp.