Chapter 1
At the dinner table, for the eleventh time, Dad made it clear he wished I wasn't even there.
"Might as well have gotten a dog. At least it'd protect the house," he sneered.
Everyone else at the table laughed along. Not a single person stood up for me.
I set my bowl down, turned, and went to pack my things. My movements were calm, like I'd done this a thousand times before.
After all these years, I'd gotten used to the way they looked at me like I didn't matter.
And they'd gotten used to me paying for everything in this house—the mortgage, the utilities, even the medical bills.
The next morning, Mom checked the bank card I'd given her, just like she always did.
"Why is there only 40 cents left? Where's the money? Where's my money?" she shrieked.
At the dinner table, the atmosphere was heavy.
The harsh, pale light made everything look even colder.
The leftovers on the table sat untouched, a stark reminder of how little they cared.
Dad's glass was empty.
For the eleventh time, he slammed it down on the table, the sound sharp and grating.
He stared at me.
His eyes were bleary, filled with contempt.
"Might as well have gotten a dog." He spoke, his breath reeking of cheap booze. "At least it'd protect the house."
Everyone at the table started laughing.
My brother, Ethan Brooks, was chewing on the ribs I'd bought, laughing so hard his shoulders shook.
Next to him, his wife, Emily, had her hand over her mouth, but you could still see the mockery in her eyes.
My mom kept her head down, picking at the last few bites in her bowl.
She didn't even crack a smile.
She never said a word for me.
Her silence was just her way of joining in the mockery.
In this house, nobody ever had my back.
I set my fork down.
My fork tapped against the porcelain.
A faint sound.
Nearly drowned out by their laughter.
But I heard it.
It was the sound of something inside me finally breaking.
I stood up.
The chair scraped across the floor, making a quick, harsh sound.
The laughter stopped.
Three pairs of eyes—no, four—locked onto me.
Their eyes were full of confusion, like they were watching a scene where the main character suddenly went off script.
I didn't look at them.
I turned and walked back to my tiny room, barely big enough for a bed and a desk.
I closed the door.
Locked it.
The world went quiet.
I pulled out the suitcase from under my bed.
I'd bought it when I graduated from college, and it had been with me for ten years.
It was covered in scratches.
Then, I opened the closet.
There weren't many clothes inside.
Most of them were just business attire.
I took them out one by one.
Folded them neatly.
And placed them in the suitcase.
My movements were calm.
Not a single moment of hesitation.
It was like I'd rehearsed this a thousand times in my head.
And honestly, I had.
Every time Dad lashed out at me.
Every time Ethan demanded something from me.
Every time Mom kept quiet, pretending not to notice.
In my mind, I'd packed my bags like this a hundred times before.
Today, I finally made it happen.
There was a photo frame sitting on the table.
It was the only family photo we had.
We took it when I graduated from elementary school.
In the picture, everyone was crowding around Ethan.
I was at the very edge, with only half of me visible in the shot.
I picked up the frame.
I opened the back of the frame.
And took out the photo, yellowed with age.
I looked at myself in the photo.
Small and timid.
I tore the photo in half.
Then I tore it into four pieces.
And then, bit by bit, I shredded it into tiny fragments.
And tossed them into the trash can.
On my desk sat a jewelry box.
Mom had given it to me for my birthday last year.
She said she'd spent a fortune on a silver bracelet.
I opened the jewelry box.
On the inside of the bracelet, there were two faint letters: "PT."
It wasn't silver.
It was platinum.
Of course, she had no idea.
I spent my very first paycheck to have a friend bring it over from abroad.
I slipped it under her pillow and told her I found it.
She took it to a jewelry store, and the jeweler told her it was fake.
So she always believed it was fake.
On my birthday, she flung it at me. "Here, wear this. It's worthless anyway."
I picked up the bracelet from where she'd tossed it.
Under the light, it flashed with a harsh, metallic gleam.
I walked over to the window.
I opened the window.
The garden below belonged to the neighborhood.
I let the bracelet drop.
I didn't care where it landed.
I closed the window.
And pulled the curtains shut.
I'd cleared out every last thing that tied me to this family.
I closed the suitcase.
The sound of the handle extending cut through the silence.
I didn't walk out just yet.
I was waiting.
Waiting for them to finish watching TV, to yell and complain until they were satisfied, and finally head off to their rooms to sleep.
*****
It was one in the morning. The living room lights were turned off.
I opened my door.
The house key was sitting on the coffee table in the living room.
I walked over to it.
And put it front and center, making sure nobody could miss it.
My shoes were on the rack at the entryway.
I slipped them on.
I didn't look back.
I rolled my suitcase, opened the front door, and stepped outside.
The door closed softly behind me.
With a quiet click, it shut.
This time, I didn't leave myself a spare key.
*****
6 a.m. The city's street sweepers were already out, starting their rounds.
The steady hiss of the sprinklers was the city's first alarm clock.
Mom woke up.
She always woke up at this hour, like clockwork.
She'd been doing this for decades, never missing a beat.
The first thing she did when she woke up wasn't to use the bathroom or get a drink.
She went straight to the living room, grabbed her phone.
Opened the banking app.
Typed in the password she knew by heart.
And checked the balance on the bank card I'd given her.
This was the happiest moment of her day.
Seeing that number tick up right on schedule, she'd smile with satisfaction.
Armed with that number, she'd start planning which neighbor she'd show off to today.
She'd brag about how "capable" her daughter was.
Today was no different.
I could picture exactly what she'd do.
She'd squint, holding her phone up close to her face.
She'd unlock it with her fingerprint.
Then she'd tap on that familiar app.
The screen lit up.
Then the number appeared.
Forty cents.
The number landed like a slap.
The hotel I was staying at had great soundproofing.
But somehow, I could still hear Mom's scream ripping through the quiet morning.
"Where's the money?
"Where's my money?"
Mom's voice was shrill, desperate, and laced with disbelief.
Then came the sound of her slippers slapping against the floor in a frantic rush.
The door burst open with a bang.
Mom shouted, "Robert! Robert! Get up!
"Something's wrong! Something's really wrong!"
Dad was jolted awake.
He was hungover and in a foul mood. "What the hell are you wailing about at this hour?"
"The money! It's gone!" Mom shouted.
Her voice was thick with tears.
"The card! There's only 40 cents left!" she cried.
"What do you mean, 40 cents? Speak clearly!" Robert snapped.
"It's the card Sophia gave me! It was fine yesterday, but now there's only 40 cents left!" Mom cried.
Dad sobered up in an instant.
He snatched the phone from her.
He stared at the number, his eyes locked on it.
The number was like staring back at him, mocking.
"What the hell happened? Where is she?" he demanded.
"I don't know! Last night didn't she go back to her room?" Mom stammered.
Her voice was trembling.
They rushed to my room.
The door wasn't locked.
They pushed it open.
It was completely empty.
The blanket was folded so perfectly, the room looked more like a hotel suite than a bedroom.
The desk was spotless, not a single thing left behind except for a thin layer of dust.
The closet was wide open, with nothing inside but a few empty hangers.
It finally hit them—I was gone.
This wasn't just me acting out.
This was something I'd been planning for ages.
"That ungrateful brat! She took all the money!" Dad roared.
His voice was so loud, the windows rattled. "She's challenging my authority.
"Hurry up! Call her! Tell her to get her ass back here!"
Mom fumbled with her phone, frantically dialing my number.
The call went through.
But no one picked up.
Once.
Twice.
Ten times.
Same result every time.
"She's not picking up! She's just not picking up!" Mom cried out.
"Call Ethan! Hurry up and call Ethan!" Robert barked.
Ethan was probably still knocked out, deep in sleep.
He sounded super annoyed when the call dragged him out of bed.
"Hey, Mom, what are you calling for so early?" he mumbled, still half asleep.
"Ethan! Your sister! She cleaned out all the money from the house!" Mom yelled.
"Huh?"
Ethan snapped awake, all traces of sleep gone.
"Wait, what? Sophia took the money? How much did she take?" he demanded.
"She took it all! Not a single cent left! There's only 40 cents left!" Mom cried.
"Shit!" Ethan cursed.
I could totally see him jumping out of bed.
"That ungrateful snake! I told you she couldn't be trusted!" he snapped. "Where is she? Why didn't you stop her?"
"She's gone! She left last night!" Mom cried.
Emily chimed in from the other end of the line.
"See? I told you! Useless hens like her are always heartless. Who's she trying to fool with that funeral face every day?" she sneered.
"So what now? How are we supposed to cover the mortgage next month? And my car payment?
"And what about that purse I wanted last week..."
On the other end of the line, they were all arguing and pointing fingers at each other.
"Enough! Stop arguing!" Dad barked.
"The only thing that matters now is finding her and dragging her back here!" he snapped.
"Where could she even go? She's got nowhere else to go in this city except here!
"Find her and break her legs! Let's see if she dares to run again!"
His voice was savage, practically dripping with violence.
Ethan was quick to back him up.
"Yeah! Dad's right! Find her and give her a real beating.
"She's just asking for it! Does she think she's some big shot now that she can make a few bucks?" he shouted.