Chapter 7

Matthew's hand froze mid-air, his fork hovering over the plate.

Phoebe was stunned, too.

Regina reacted first, frowning as she glanced toward the kitchen.

"What's going on? Who gave the shrimp to Monica?" she asked.

The servant hurried over to take it away.

I didn't move.

I stared at Matthew.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, but he quickly covered it up and said quietly, "Sorry, I forgot."

He said he forgot.

How easy it was for him to say.

When I was a kid, I ended up in the hospital because of a shrimp allergy.

They had to poke my hand twice before they finally got the IV in, and I cried until I could hardly catch my breath.

That day, Matthew sat by my bed, slipped an orange candy into my palm, and told me I'd never eat shrimp again.

I remembered that for seven years.

But he forgot.

But he remembered Phoebe couldn't eat cilantro, drink anything cold, that her old knee injury couldn't handle the chill, and that she loved the limited-edition peach pie from that place downtown.

People's memories could be so clear-cut.

There was a clear line between loving and not loving.

Seeing the awkwardness, Selena quickly jumped in to smooth things over.

"Hey, Matt's been super busy with work lately. It's normal for him to forget sometimes. Monica, don't let it bother you," she said.

I lowered my head and murmured, "It's fine. I won't take it to heart."

That seemed to let Matthew breathe a sigh of relief.

But only I knew it wasn't about forgiving him.

I didn't want to care about it anymore.

For the rest of the meal, everything tasted like cardboard.

Phoebe was more thoughtful than I'd imagined.

She had the servant take away all the seafood from my side and slid a bowl of soup over to me.

"Have some of this. There's no shrimp in it," she said.

Phoebe's smile was like before.

Her smile was bright and beautiful, the kind that made people want to trust her.

I hesitated for a moment and quietly said, "Thanks."

Matthew shot us a look, his face clouded with mixed emotions.

After dinner, the elders gathered in the living room for coffee.

The younger crowd headed to the side hall.

I made up an excuse about not feeling well and slipped away to the second-floor terrace by myself.

The winter night wind was biting cold.

I stood by the railing, gazing down at the lights scattered across the yard.

The Shelton family's courtyard was picture-perfect, holly bushes trimmed with precision, warm yellow lights lining the stone path, making it look like a walkway designed for someone special.

But after twelve years in this house, I knew none of those lights was meant for me.

My phone buzzed again.

Leonard texted me. [I'll be waiting for you at Maple Street tomorrow at 3 PM.]

I stared at those words for a long time.

My finger hovered over the screen, but I couldn't bring myself to tap it.

Should I go?

If I went, it meant I'd have to start digging into the secrets Regina never told me.

It meant I'd have to rip open the calm facade that had been there for years.

And it meant I could never fool myself into thinking this place was home anymore.

I heard soft footsteps behind me.

Instinctively, I locked my phone screen.

I turned around and saw Phoebe standing in the doorway to the terrace.

She was wrapped in a cream-colored shawl, holding a cup of water.

"Am I bothering you?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No."

Phoebe walked over and handed me the cup of water.

She said softly, "I'm sorry about earlier."

I was a little caught off guard.

I looked at her and asked, "For what?"

Phoebe gazed down at the lights below and said softly, "Because everyone's always used to putting me first."

Her voice was steady, almost too calm.

It wasn't boastful, nor was it pity, but it was a simple truth.

I stood there, not sure what to say.

She gave a small smile. "When I was little, I was clueless. I thought it was only natural for everyone to care about me.

"But after spending so much time alone overseas, I realized that having everyone's eyes on you isn't always as great as it sounds."

I looked at her. "Was it tough for you abroad?"

Phoebe's smile faded a little. "Not what you'd call good."

She took a sip of water and didn't say anything more.

I didn't push her for more. Sometimes, it was better not to ask.

Silence settled between us for a moment.

After a beat of silence, Phoebe broke the silence and asked, "Did you and Matt get into a fight?"

My fingers instinctively curled around the cup, gripping it tighter.

"No," I said.

She turned to look at me.

Her eyes were so clear, almost piercing, like she could see through all the awkwardness and vulnerability I tried to hide.

Phoebe said softly, "He kept watching you the whole evening."

I froze for a second.

Phoebe's voice was gentle, almost hesitant. "You didn't wear your necklace tonight. He kept looking at your neck."

I didn't know what to say.

The ache I'd tried to bury deep inside was brought back up by her words.

Back then, I probably would have felt a bit of that bittersweet hope.

I might think he still cared about me.

But this time, I only felt sad and pathetic.

Maybe it was never about me.

Maybe he only cared that I took off the necklace he gave me.

Maybe he only cared that the girl who always did what he wanted suddenly stopped acting like his obedient little sister.

Phoebe looked like she wanted to say something else, but Selena's voice called out from downstairs. "Phoebe, Matt's looking for you."