Chapter 4

Mike didn't ask if I was hurt. Instead, his first question was for Charlotte. "Are you causing trouble again?"

Charlotte's eyes instantly went red. "I was just trying to help Joanna tidy up," she whimpered. "And she yelled at me."

Mike turned to me, his voice low and tired. "Joanna. Don't start a scene here at home."

I shoved him back. "Home?" I shot back, my voice thick with sarcasm. "You say that word like it's the truth."

For a moment, he just looked at me, caught off guard, as if I'd actually landed a hit.

Charlotte didn't miss a beat. She snatched the whistle, tears now pouring down her cheeks as she backed away. "Joanna tried to hit me," she wailed.

She retreated toward the stairs, stumbling and catching herself on the bottom step.

Mom came rushing down the stairs, her voice shrill. "Joanna! How could you—"

I stood rooted to the spot, a hot wave of anger choking off my words.

All I could see was Charlotte's hand, clenched around that whistle.

I lunged. Not to hurt her, just to get it back.

I grabbed her wrist and tore her fingers open. The whistle fell into my palm.

Just then, she cried out and dropped to the floor.

Mike rushed over on instinct, scooping her up into his arms.

He looked up at me, eyes cold. "What is wrong with you?"

My gaze dropped to the whistle. It was bloated from the water, the wood split like a dried-up riverbed.

And just like that, everything felt clear, and pointless. "Yeah," I said quietly. "What is wrong with me? Stupid enough to think you'd ever open the door."

*****

The living room quickly became crowded.

Dad came out of his study, his face looking grim.

Mom was holding Charlotte as if she were delicate china.

Charlotte herself was clinging to Mike, sobbing so hard that she could hardly catch her breath. "I only wanted to help Joanna," she choked out. "She hates me a lot."

Mom pointed at me, her hand shaking. "How could you hurt Charlie? She's been fragile since she was a child."

I clutched the soaked whistle, my knuckles white. "She tore off my whistle," I said. "MINE."

Dad's voice was cold, devoid of feeling. "Is all this really over a piece of worthless wood?"

I looked at him, and for a moment, he seemed like a total stranger.

Mike set Charlotte down on the couch and stood in front of her, shielding her. "Joanna, apologize to Charlie."

I looked up at him. "You saw it. She was the one who started it."

He paused for a moment, then said, "She's just emotionally unstable."

I let out a sarcastic laugh. "And what about me? Am I just supposed to be okay with it? To smile and act like it's fine when you freeze me out?"

The living room went dead silent.

Mom's face instantly turned pale. "What are you talking about?"

I pulled out my phone and scrolled to the screenshot from last night. The green "Approved" notification was still right there on the screen. I held it up like a piece of evidence. "I'm not making this up."

Mike's eyes narrowed in shock. In the next instant, he lunged to grab the phone.

I backed off, my voice cold. "Don't touch it."

Dad barked, "Enough!"

He snatched the phone and glanced at the screen. For just a moment, his fingers trembled.

But when he looked up, he passed it to Mike anyway. "Systems like this fail all the time," he said, his voice flat.

I heard myself laugh, a hollow, disbelieving sound.

Charlotte was sobbing on the couch, but her eyes were eerily bright.

Mike shoved the phone back into his pocket, his voice hoarse. "Joanna, don't let this get out."

I nodded. "Don't worry. I won't stir things up."

I was just going to leave the whole mess here.

I turned and went upstairs to gather my stuff.

Mom rushed after me, grabbing my sleeve, her voice soft and pleading. "Jo, please don't hold it against us. Charlie just can't take it."

For so long, I'd waited to hear that gentle, motherly tone in her voice again. But now that it was here, it was too late.

I gently pulled her hand away. "Mom, I'm not mad at you. I just finally understand who you really care about."

Downstairs, I heard Dad's voice, low and stern. "Mike, you've gone too far."

Mike's voice was quiet, but stubborn. "Dad, Charlie's called you Mom and Dad for twenty years. She's the one you raised."

Dad was silent for a long moment, and then let out a sigh. "And what about her?"

Mike paused. "She... she'll get by."

I stood at the top of the stairs, and a cold, sharp irony settled over me.

So, to them, "getting by" just meant being crushed, over and over, and still finding a way to stay standing.

I pulled the last coat out of my closet.

Charlotte had somehow followed me upstairs and was now blocking my doorway.

Her eyes were red, but she gave me a sweet smile. "Joanna, just go. Once you're gone, Mike won't have to hurt anymore."

I met her gaze. Then I slowly lifted my hand, not to strike her, but to carefully slip the damp wooden whistle into my pocket.

As I walked past her, my voice dropped to a near whisper. "Don't worry. I'll make sure none of you ever have to feel hurt because of me again."