From the other side of the walls, laughter spilled in. Their laughter. My family—my husband, my son, my granddaughter, my stepsister—excitedly talking about the cruise trip. I could almost see them in my head: Oliver boasting about his connections, Beatrice smiling sweetly as if she owned everything, Jackson bragging about how much fun Coreen would have. Their joy thundered in my ears like knives scraping bone.
And me? I was nothing more than the shadow left behind.
But not this time.
I pulled out my suitcase. Slowly, carefully, I began to pack—not for them, but for me. For the first time in twenty-five years, I was packing for my own freedom. I folded clothes, slipped in my sketchbooks, and tucked away the little trinkets that reminded me of a dream I once had, a dream they had stolen but I refused to let die completely.
I tossed memories into the trash—photographs, broken jewelry, fake tokens of “love.” All lies.
Then the door creaked open. Jackson. My son. His eyes narrowed at the sight of my suitcase.
“Why are you packing?” he scoffed. “You’re not coming.”
I turned to him, voice calm though my heart trembled. “No. I know I’m not. But I’m also going somewhere. Since all of you are leaving me behind.”
He barked a laugh, and Coreen, clinging to his side, giggled too. “And where are you gonna go? You don’t even have money. Do you think we’re going to give you some? You’ve got nothing.”
I looked him straight in the eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“I’m not getting money from you.”
If only they knew. If only they had realized that behind their backs, I had been quietly selling my designs again. That the same creativity Oliver had once praised, then dismissed, had been my secret lifeline. Piece by piece, sketch by sketch, I had rebuilt something of my own. They thought I was helpless. They thought I was trapped. They were wrong.
Oliver appeared in the doorway, his face twisted in disdain. “And where’s it coming from then, huh? From your man? Are you cheating on me, Candice?”
The accusation slapped harder than any hand. I shook my head, my voice cracking. “No! Don’t you dare accuse me. If anything—you should look in the mirror.”
His hand flew before I could finish. My cheek burned, my head snapping to the side.