Chapter 4
By the time I got back to the Shea residence, it was almost ten at night.
It had been a year since I'd last been home, but the living room looked almost the same.
Victoria's favorite white lisianthus were in full bloom.
Stella's new shoes were sitting by the entrance.
On the photo wall, there were more pictures of Stella with the family than before.
My photo was still there, but it had been pushed to the very edge.
In the photo, I was twenty, standing at the far right of the family portrait.
Stella was holding onto Victoria, with Andrew standing behind her.
There was half a person's space separating me from them.
The photographer had told me to move closer.
But Victoria said Stella wasn't feeling well, so I shouldn't crowd her.
I didn't budge. That half-person gap stayed in the photo, almost like a foreshadowing of what was waiting for me.
Chloe, the housekeeper, came over. "Vivian, you're back."
She noticed the toolbox in my hand and glanced outside. "Where's your luggage?"
"I didn't bring any," I replied.
Chloe looked a bit surprised.
Andrew walked in behind me, frowning. "Is your stuff still overseas?"
"Sort of," I replied.
"Have your assistant pick it up tomorrow."
"No need."
I didn't bother explaining and headed straight upstairs.
My room was at the end of the second floor.
The silver name plaque on the door was covered in a thin layer of dust.
I reached out and wiped it off.
My grandmother wrote my name herself, back when she was still alive.
Victoria had someone make a name plaque using my grandmother's handwriting and put it on the door.
Back then, she pulled me into her arms and said, "From now on, this is your home."
And I really believed her for so many years.
Everything in the room was neatly arranged.
The sheets were new, and there were fresh flowers in the vase, almost as if someone had been waiting for me to come home all this time.
But at the bottom of the closet, there were a few of Stella's jewelry boxes.
And in the dresser drawer, there were hair clips she hadn't bothered to take with her.
She must have been coming in here a lot.
I set the toolbox down on the desk.
As I opened the closet, there was a soft knock at the door.
Stella had changed out of her dress and was now wearing a white nightgown. Her eyes were still red.
"Vivian, can I come in?" she asked, but she was already stepping inside.
"What's up?" I asked.
"I'm here to return the ring," Stella said, placing it in her palm and holding it out to me. "Lucas turned me down. He said the engagement was with you. I guess I got carried away today."
She said she was giving it back, but her hand never reached me.
She knew exactly how far to hold it.
If I so much as reached for it, she'd let go instantly.
The ring would drop, she'd burst into tears, and Andrew and Victoria would burst in.
I knew this act all too well.
I didn't move.
Stella waited for a moment. "Vivian?"
"It's dirty now," I said.
Her face stiffened. "What?"
"I don't take things that have already been worn by someone else," I replied.
Her fingers slowly tightened around the ring. "But Lucas..."
"It doesn't matter, even if it's Lucas," I replied.
Stella finally looked up at me.
For a moment, the fragile look on her face disappeared, replaced by a pout. "Vivian, you're still blaming me, aren't you?"
"No," I replied.
"Then why are you being so mean?"
"I'm telling the truth."
Stella gasped, clutching her chest. "Vivian, I want us to get along. I know you hate me. But I've been with the Shea family since I was eight years old. Mom, Dad, and Andrew are my family too. I never tried to replace you."
As she spoke, she glanced around my room.
Her eyes drifted over the bed, the closet, and the workbench by the window.
Finally, she said softly, "Mom said that when Lucas and I get married, we'll have to redo the room.
"My room doesn't get much light. The photographer said it's better to stay in a sunnier room while we're getting ready for the wedding."
Here it came.
"So?" I asked.
She bit her lip. "Could I stay in your room for a bit until the wedding's done? You won't mind, will you, Vivian?"
She looked at me, her eyes filled with both hope and caution.
She wanted to see me snap, to point at the door and tell her to leave, to hear me say, "This is my room."