Chapter 1: The Girl Who Wasn't Welcome
"Pack your things, Ariana. You have exactly twenty minutes to get out of this house before your father comes home.""
My stepmother said it while holding my suitcase open.
She wasn't shouting. That was the frightening part. Tiffany always became quieter when she was about to do something cruel.
I stood at the bottom of the staircase, clutching my phone inside the pocket of my hoodie. The recording timer was running.
00:03:17.
"You're serious?"" I asked.
Tiffany tossed another pile of my clothes into the suitcase.
"Do I look like I'm joking?""
"But Dad said I could stay here.""
She laughed, then picked up my framed photograph of my mother from the hallway table.
"Your father says a lot of things when he feels guilty. That doesn't mean I have to live with the consequences.""
She turned the photograph around, examining it.
My mother had died when I was nine. The picture showed her holding me at the beach, both of us laughing with the ocean behind us.
Tiffany looked at it for another second before placing it face down on the couch.
"Don't forget your mother's things," she said.
"Apparently, they're the only things in this house you care about.""
I swallowed.
"My mother lived here before you.""
"And now she's gone.""
The words landed harder than I expected.
I glanced toward the front door. Dad wasn't supposed to return from his business trip until after six. It was barely four thirty.
I had twenty minutes, according to Tiffany.
I knew better than to argue.
Three months earlier, I had tried explaining what happened when Dad traveled. Tiffany had cried, held his hands, and told him I was becoming disrespectful because I couldn't accept having another woman in my life.
Dad believed her.
He always believed the person who cried first.
But this time, I had decided not to rely on anyone's memory.
I was recording everything.
"Tiffany," I said carefully, "where am I supposed to go?""
She dropped a pair of shoes into the suitcase.
"That's not my problem.""
"I'm sixteen.""
"Old enough to understand that nobody owes you anything.""
"I don't have anywhere else to stay.""
"Call one of your mother's relatives.""
"My aunt lives three hours away.""
"Then start walking.""
She zipped the suitcase so violently that the fabric caught in the zipper.
I flinched.
Tiffany noticed.
"Don't act frightened. You're very good at making yourself look like a victim.""
I looked down at my phone.
00:06:42.
Every word was being saved.
"Can I at least wait until Dad gets home?""
Her expression changed.
For a moment, the pleasant face she wore around my father disappeared completely.
"No.""
"Why?""
"Because I don't want him coming home to another one of your performances.""
I stepped toward the suitcase.
"That's my school uniform.""
"Then take it.""
"My laptop is upstairs.""
"Not anymore.""
"What do you mean?""
"I moved it.""
"Where?""
Tiffany smiled.
"Somewhere you won't be getting it back.""
My stomach tightened.
The laptop contained my schoolwork, photographs, and the messages I'd exchanged with my mother before she died.
"Please," I whispered.
"That's all I have left of her.""
Tiffany walked closer until her perfume filled my nose.
"Listen carefully, Ariana. Your father is marrying me in three weeks. After that, this house will finally become a proper family home.""
I stared at her.
"And where do I fit in?""
She tilted her head.
"You don't.""
The recording continued.
Then Tiffany did something that made my hands shake.
She grabbed my suitcase handle and dragged it toward the front door.
"Come on. We're finished.""
I reached for it.
"Stop! You're hurting me!""
She twisted around.
"Don't touch me!""
Her hand struck my shoulder, sending me backward into the hallway table.
The framed photograph of my mother crashed onto the floor.
Glass scattered across the tiles.
For a second, neither of us moved.
I stared at the broken frame.
Tiffany looked down, then looked at me.
"Look what you made me do.""
I felt something inside me go strangely quiet.
I didn't cry.
I didn't apologize.
I simply bent down and picked up the photograph.
"You're going to regret this," I said.
Tiffany folded her arms.
"Is that a threat?""
"No.""
I slipped the photograph into my hoodie pocket.
"It's a recording.""
Her smile vanished.
"What?""
I pulled out my phone.
The screen was still glowing.
00:11:09.
Tiffany's face went white.
Then she lunged.
"Give me that phone!""
I backed away, holding it against my chest.
"Don't touch me!""
"Delete it!""
She grabbed my wrist, trying to pry the phone from my fingers.
I twisted away.
"You're hurting me!""
"Delete it, Ariana!""
And then the front door opened.
A familiar voice cut through the hallway.
"What the hell is going on here?""
My father stood in the doorway, one hand still gripping his suitcase.
Khalil had come home early.
His eyes moved from Tiffany's hand around my wrist to the suitcase beside the door, then to the broken glass covering the floor.
Finally, he looked at my face.
"Dad...""
Tiffany released me immediately.
But it was too late.
He had already seen everything.
May you like
And the first thing he said made Tiffany take a step backward.
"Why is my daughter standing here with a suitcase?""
