Chapter 1

"Claire, 50 grand." My mother's voice was flat, as if she were just checking what was for dinner.

I gripped the phone, glancing out the window. The March wind still had a bite to it. My reflection stared back at me from the glass. Just thirty-five years old, but fine lines already bridge the corners of my eyes.

"It's for the memorial," she said. "Sophie's twentieth anniversary is coming up. The headstone is looking weathered. We're having it recut. Your father and I decided on the inscription, 'The Pride of the Linwoods.'"

The Pride of the Linwoods.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words died in my throat.

"Wire the money this week," she added after a beat. "If Sophie were still here, she'd be far more successful than you. You can afford it."

I stared at the familiar number on the screen. "Fine," I said. "I'll send it."

*****

My finger hovered over the screen as I prepared the transfer.

[50000] The numbers flickered before I hit confirm. Three seconds later, the ping of a successful transaction echoed in the quiet room.

My mother didn't say thank you. Instead, she said, "Should've sent it ages ago. You really took your time."

I stayed silent. It had been twenty years. Twenty years since my sister passed, and twenty years of being measured against a ghost.

"You're taking time off for the memorial service," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "After the graveside, we're heading to the cathedral. Sophie always found comfort there."

"Mom," I said, "I have an awards ceremony that day."

"What kind of award?" she asked.

"An architectural design award. It's a national honor," I replied.

The line went dead quiet for two seconds.

"What's so special about some little award?" my mother said. "This is Sophie's twentieth anniversary. That award of yours pops up every year. Is taking one day off really too much to ask?"

I gripped the phone until my knuckles turned white.

I had spent a decade grinding in this industry to earn this recognition. The day the committee called, I sat in my office for hours, wanting to call her. In the end, I never did.

"I'm not taking the day off," I said. "I have to be there for the award ceremony."

"Claire!" my mother's voice shot up. "Sophie's been gone for twenty years. Are you really still trying to upstage her?"

Upstage her?

I took a deep breath and said nothing.

My father's voice drifted over, a low murmur as if he were trying to talk sense into my mother. I couldn't make out the words, but I knew he wouldn't speak up for me. He never did.

"Fine, don't come back," my mother said coldly. "You've been a handful since you were a kid anyway. If Sophie were still alive—"

"Mom," I cut her off. "I sent the money. I'm hanging up."

I hit the end call button. The screen dimmed, leaving the living room in silence. Outside, night had fallen. The city lights flickered in the distance like a cold, indifferent sea of stars.

David stepped out of the study and caught my eye. "Is it about the headstone again?" he asked.

I nodded.

He walked over and sat beside me without saying a word. That was what I loved about him. He never pushed, just kept me company.

"Fifty thousand dollars," I said. "She wants to carve 'The Pride of the Linwoods' on the monument."

David's brow twitched. "When your sister passed away," he began, choosing his words carefully, "she was 18?"

"Yeah. Senior year. Leukemia," I replied. "She was gone three months after the diagnosis."

"So... what did she actually accomplish?" David asked.

I was stunned for a moment. Right, what had she accomplished?

She was 18, a high school senior, with no college entrance exams, no university, and no job. Her life was frozen right there, a blank slate, before she ever had the chance to do anything.

But in my mother's eyes, she had done everything.

If she'd been healthy, she would have outperformed me. If she were alive, she would have been more successful. If she were still here, she would have been a better daughter.

When I ranked first in the school, my mother said Sophie would have done better.

When I got promoted and a raise, my mother said it was all for nothing because if Sophie were alive...

On my wedding day, my mother sobbed and called out Sophie's name and not a single word of blessing for me.

"I'm going to go tidy up," I said, standing up. "I have work tomorrow."

David looked at me, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he held back.

I walked into the bedroom, shut the door, and leaned against it with my eyes closed. In the cabinet sat Sophie's old diary.

I'd found it while clearing out her things after she died. I was 15 then. I opened the first page, and what I saw left me stunned for a long time.

I never told a soul. Twenty years had passed, and I still hadn't said a word.

I thought time would heal all wounds. I thought my parents would eventually truly see me. I thought...

I couldn't have been more wrong.