Chapter 1 · The Bully Coming For Dinner

My brother said he was bringing his girlfriend home for dinner and told me to open the door.

I wiped the water off my hands with a towel and pulled the door open.

Two people were standing outside.

My brother, Alex Quinn, was smiling so broadly that his eyes had nearly turned into crescents. He stepped to the side to make room.

"Emily, this is my girlfriend, Sophie Woods."

That face smiled at me. The dimples, the round eyes, the tiny mole at the outer edge of her left eyebrow.

Ten years had passed. The face that had haunted my nightmares countless times was now holding Alex's arm and greeting me with a warm smile.

"Nice to meet you, Emily."

My hand was still resting on the doorknob.

My fingernails were digging into my palm.

The moment her eyes met mine, there was a very brief pause.

It lasted less than a second. Then her smile became even sweeter.

"Alex talks about how capable you are every single day. I'm so glad to finally meet you in person."

I released the doorknob.

"Please come in."

*****

Sophie slipped on the cotton slippers my mom had prepared. As she bent down, her hair fell forward, exposing a patch of pale skin at the back of her neck.

I couldn't take my eyes off that spot.

Back in high school, she always wore her hair in a high ponytail.

After gym class, she'd walk past me and, without a second thought, pour whatever was left in her water bottle onto my desk.

"Oops, my hand slipped," she'd say, all innocent.

That image of her laughing as she walked away haunted me for ten years.

"Emily, why are you just standing there? Go bring out the soup," my mom called.

Her voice snapped me back to reality.

I turned and headed into the kitchen.

I wiped my hands on my apron twice, but I still couldn't stop them from trembling.

At the dinner table, Sophie acted perfectly polite and friendly.

She said my mom's pork ribs were delicious, told my dad his calligraphy looked really cool, and said our place felt super cozy.

She knew exactly what to say.

I sat across from her, holding a piece of rib, but I couldn't bring myself to eat it.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Sophie asked.

She tilted her head and looked at me. That look — caring, gentle, completely harmless.

It was the exact same look she gave the teacher back in high school, all helpful, saying, "Let me help Emily with her homework."

Then, as soon as the teacher wasn't looking, she'd tear up my homework and dump it in the trash.

"I'm not very hungry," I said, setting my fork down.

"Why are you so quiet today, Emily?" Dad looked at me.

"Just tired from work, I guess," I said, forcing a smile.

Alex spent the whole meal staring at Sophie. I recognized that look on his face instantly.

He used to look at his golden retriever the exact same way—like it was the best thing in the world, and nobody was allowed to say a single bad word about it.

"Emily, Sophie works as a client manager at the bank. She got promoted just last year," Alex said.

"Mm," I replied.

"She's a really good person. Every time our department goes out for a meal, she takes the drinks for me."

"Mm," I said again.

"Are you even listening, Emily?" Alex complained, setting his glass down.

I looked at him.

He was twenty-four, just a year and a half out of college.

I got him a job as an assistant at a design firm.

He had no idea.

He didn't know a thing.

"Yeah, I'm listening," I said. "That's good."

After dinner, Sophie jumped up to clear the dishes without being asked.

Mom tried to stop her three times, but Sophie just smiled and kept going. Mom couldn't stop grinning.

"So considerate," Mom said.

I stood on the balcony and pushed the window open just a crack.

The wind rushed in, making me shiver.

Sophie was in the kitchen, laughing and chatting with Mom.

Her voice carried through the living room, clear as day.

"Alex said Emily runs her own company? That's amazing," Sophie said.

"Yeah, Emily's always been strong-willed since she was little. She always handled things on her own," Mom replied.

"She must have suffered a lot, right?" Sophie asked.

I gripped the balcony railing.

She wanted to know how much I suffered.

Back in freshman year, she threw my backpack out the third-floor window.

In sophomore year, she got everyone to freeze me out. Nobody talked to me for a whole semester.

In senior year, she blocked me in the girls' bathroom, had three people hold me down, and took a marker to scrawl four words across the back of my uniform.

I didn't dare tell anyone.

Because she smiled and said to me, "If you snitch, I'll just say you started it. Like anyone's gonna believe you."

Ten years have gone by, and now she was sitting at my dinner table, enjoying my mom's homemade soup.

By the time they left, it was almost ten.

Alex and Sophie were all lovey-dovey at the door, and Mom just laughed, telling them to hurry up and go.

Sophie turned and waved at me.

"See you," she said.

I nodded.

The moment the door shut behind them, I almost sprinted back to my room.

There was a black iron box tucked under my bed.

I've moved three times, but I could never bring myself to toss it out.

I lifted the lid. Sitting on top was a leather-bound notebook.

I turned to the first page.

[Date: September 7, 2012.]

[Sophie hid my water bottle again today. Third time now. I spent an entire period looking for it and finally found it in the trash. The cap had been twisted off. God knows what she put in there. I didn't dare drink it.]

There were plenty more pages after that.

Four years' worth of records.

Every entry had the date, time, place, and who was there.

Back then, I didn't even know I was supposed to keep proof.

I was just scared that if I didn't write it all down, I'd start thinking I was going crazy.

Underneath the notebook were three medical records.

The first one: [anxiety disorder, March 2013.]

The second: [mild depression, November 2014.]

The third: [severe insomnia, June 2015.]

I was seventeen that year.

I had to take sleeping pills every night, just so I could fall asleep.

At the very bottom of the metal box was a stack of printed-out chat logs.

Back then, our class had a group chat, and Sophie gave me a nickname in there.

Invisible Girl.

Then it got worse—she changed it to 'Trash Can.'

Nobody ever stood up for me in the group chat.

I snapped the lid shut and sat on the floor for what felt like forever.

Chapter 1

My brother said he was bringing his girlfriend home for dinner and told me to open the door.

I wiped the water off my hands with a towel and pulled the door open.

Two people were standing outside.

My brother, Alex Quinn, was smiling so broadly that his eyes had nearly turned into crescents. He stepped to the side to make room.

"Emily, this is my girlfriend, Sophie Woods."

That face smiled at me. The dimples, the round eyes, the tiny mole at the outer edge of her left eyebrow.

Ten years had passed. The face that had haunted my nightmares countless times was now holding Alex's arm and greeting me with a warm smile.

"Nice to meet you, Emily."

My hand was still resting on the doorknob.

My fingernails were digging into my palm.

The moment her eyes met mine, there was a very brief pause.

It lasted less than a second. Then her smile became even sweeter.

"Alex talks about how capable you are every single day. I'm so glad to finally meet you in person."

I released the doorknob.

"Please come in."

*****

Sophie slipped on the cotton slippers my mom had prepared. As she bent down, her hair fell forward, exposing a patch of pale skin at the back of her neck.

I couldn't take my eyes off that spot.

Back in high school, she always wore her hair in a high ponytail.

After gym class, she'd walk past me and, without a second thought, pour whatever was left in her water bottle onto my desk.

"Oops, my hand slipped," she'd say, all innocent.

That image of her laughing as she walked away haunted me for ten years.

"Emily, why are you just standing there? Go bring out the soup," my mom called.

Her voice snapped me back to reality.

I turned and headed into the kitchen.

I wiped my hands on my apron twice, but I still couldn't stop them from trembling.

At the dinner table, Sophie acted perfectly polite and friendly.

She said my mom's pork ribs were delicious, told my dad his calligraphy looked really cool, and said our place felt super cozy.

She knew exactly what to say.

I sat across from her, holding a piece of rib, but I couldn't bring myself to eat it.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Sophie asked.

She tilted her head and looked at me. That look — caring, gentle, completely harmless.

It was the exact same look she gave the teacher back in high school, all helpful, saying, "Let me help Emily with her homework."

Then, as soon as the teacher wasn't looking, she'd tear up my homework and dump it in the trash.

"I'm not very hungry," I said, setting my fork down.

"Why are you so quiet today, Emily?" Dad looked at me.

"Just tired from work, I guess," I said, forcing a smile.

Alex spent the whole meal staring at Sophie. I recognized that look on his face instantly.

He used to look at his golden retriever the exact same way—like it was the best thing in the world, and nobody was allowed to say a single bad word about it.

"Emily, Sophie works as a client manager at the bank. She got promoted just last year," Alex said.

"Mm," I replied.

"She's a really good person. Every time our department goes out for a meal, she takes the drinks for me."

"Mm," I said again.

"Are you even listening, Emily?" Alex complained, setting his glass down.

I looked at him.

He was twenty-four, just a year and a half out of college.

I got him a job as an assistant at a design firm.

He had no idea.

He didn't know a thing.

"Yeah, I'm listening," I said. "That's good."

After dinner, Sophie jumped up to clear the dishes without being asked.

Mom tried to stop her three times, but Sophie just smiled and kept going. Mom couldn't stop grinning.

"So considerate," Mom said.

I stood on the balcony and pushed the window open just a crack.

The wind rushed in, making me shiver.

Sophie was in the kitchen, laughing and chatting with Mom.

Her voice carried through the living room, clear as day.

"Alex said Emily runs her own company? That's amazing," Sophie said.

"Yeah, Emily's always been strong-willed since she was little. She always handled things on her own," Mom replied.

"She must have suffered a lot, right?" Sophie asked.

I gripped the balcony railing.

She wanted to know how much I suffered.

Back in freshman year, she threw my backpack out the third-floor window.

In sophomore year, she got everyone to freeze me out. Nobody talked to me for a whole semester.

In senior year, she blocked me in the girls' bathroom, had three people hold me down, and took a marker to scrawl four words across the back of my uniform.

I didn't dare tell anyone.

Because she smiled and said to me, "If you snitch, I'll just say you started it. Like anyone's gonna believe you."

Ten years have gone by, and now she was sitting at my dinner table, enjoying my mom's homemade soup.

By the time they left, it was almost ten.

Alex and Sophie were all lovey-dovey at the door, and Mom just laughed, telling them to hurry up and go.

Sophie turned and waved at me.

"See you," she said.

I nodded.

The moment the door shut behind them, I almost sprinted back to my room.

There was a black iron box tucked under my bed.

I've moved three times, but I could never bring myself to toss it out.

I lifted the lid. Sitting on top was a leather-bound notebook.

I turned to the first page.

[Date: September 7, 2012.]

There were plenty more pages after that.

Four years' worth of records.

Every entry had the date, time, place, and who was there.

Back then, I didn't even know I was supposed to keep proof.

I was just scared that if I didn't write it all down, I'd start thinking I was going crazy.

Underneath the notebook were three medical records.

The first one: [anxiety disorder, March 2013.]

The second: [mild depression, November 2014.]

The third: [severe insomnia, June 2015.]

I was seventeen that year.

I had to take sleeping pills every night, just so I could fall asleep.

At the very bottom of the metal box was a stack of printed-out chat logs.

Back then, our class had a group chat, and Sophie gave me a nickname in there.

Invisible Girl.

Then it got worse—she changed it to 'Trash Can.'

Nobody ever stood up for me in the group chat.

I snapped the lid shut and sat on the floor for what felt like forever.