Chapter 9

Matthew whipped his head around to look at me. "What date?"

I didn't answer him. Instead, I looked at Leonard.

My heart suddenly started pounding.

It felt like a door I'd never opened before was suddenly cracked open in front of me.

I heard myself say, "Sure."

Matthew's face suddenly darkened.

"Monica, do you know what you're agreeing to?" he asked.

I turned to look at him. "Yeah, I do."

He stared at me intently. "Are you close with him?"

His question came out of nowhere.

It was as if I'd done something to betray him.

I suddenly remembered how he turned and walked away without hesitation when Phoebe called.

I remembered how he knew all her food allergies at dinner.

I remembered how he told everyone he had seen me as his little sister.

So I smiled. "Matthew."

It was the first time I'd called him by his name so calmly.

"Who are you to ask me that?" I asked.

He froze.

I looked him in the eye and said, slowly and deliberately, "As my big brother?"

The wind on the terrace seemed to stop for a moment.

Matthew's face went pale.

Leonard stood a short distance away, not saying a word.

But his presence was like a calm mirror, laying all our awkwardness bare.

Matthew swallowed hard and then finally spoke in a low voice, "Do you have to hurt me like this?"

I shook my head. "I'm following your lead."

Not far away, Selena's voice called out again, "Matt, Phoebe's looking for you. She says her knee hurts."

Matthew instinctively turned around.

I noticed.

Even at this moment, he still put Phoebe first.

It was fine.

I finally let go, and even the last trace of bitterness faded away.

I nodded at Leonard. "See you tomorrow afternoon."

With that, I walked past Matthew and left the terrace.

Behind me, Matthew called out in a low voice, "Monica."

I didn't stop.

Downstairs, the lights were bright.

Everyone was gathered around Phoebe.

She was sitting on the couch, her skirt cascading down, and at some point, Matthew's jacket had been draped over her knees.

He came down in the end.

I paused at the top of the stairs and took it all in.

Suddenly, the whole scene felt so familiar that it was almost ridiculous.

It was like back when we were little.

Whenever Phoebe frowned, everyone would flock to her.

Meanwhile, I'd hide out at the corner of the stairs, hugging my scraped knee, waiting for the blood to dry by itself. No one came to check on me.

It was not like I never felt pain.

But no one ever bothered to ask.

Back in my room, I locked the door behind me.

I saw a new message from Leonard on my phone.

Leonard: [Tomorrow at 3 PM, No. 17 Maple Street.

[If you're worried about it, I can send you some of the files ahead of time.]

I sat on my bed, staring at the message.

The snow outside was getting heavier.

I fished the broken moon necklace out of my pocket and shoved it into the deepest corner of my drawer.

Then I replied: [No need.

[I'll go check it out myself.]

The next afternoon, I didn't take the car Matthew sent for me.

The driver waited downstairs for ten minutes before calling me.

He sounded torn. "Ms. Richardson, Mr. Payne said I should take you to the restoration studio."

I stood by the curb, watching a taxi slowly roll up in the distance, and murmured, "No need. I'm not going to the restoration studio today."

The driver looked surprised for a second.

"Where are you going then? I can take you," he offered.

"No, thanks," I said.

After hanging up, I switched my phone to silent mode.

A taxi rolled up, the window sliding down as the driver asked where I was going.

I slid into the back seat.

"No 17, Maple Street," I told him.

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

"That old neighborhood? No one's lived there for years. So, what brings you out there?" he asked.

I stared out the window at the street flying past, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag.

"Going home," I said.

I caught myself off guard when I said it.

It felt so unfamiliar.

From twelve to twenty-four, I always thought Shelton Manor was my home.

But no matter how bright the lights were, I never had the key.

Regina would ask me gently if I was cold, but she'd also remind me not to cause any trouble for the family.

Selena would toss me gifts I didn't like, then laugh and say, "Monica's not picky anyway."

Matthew would pull me into his arms late at night and whisper, "Don't be scared."

But when the sun came up, he'd remind me I was his little sister.

It always felt like I was a guest in someone else's house.

Even when I was hurting, I had to keep it to myself.

Maple Street looked more worn than I remembered.

The sycamore trees stood bare in the winter, their branches stripped of leaves, and the old brick walls along the street were marked with the uneven scars of time.

The taxi pulled up at the entrance to the alley.

I paid the driver, got out, and walked down the alley, checking the house numbers as I went.

Number 17 was at the end of the alley.

The iron gate was neither new nor old, with a thin layer of dust on the knocker.

It looked like the photo Leonard had sent me.

Below the house number, the name "Richardson" was faintly carved into the metal.

It was barely visible.

Time had nearly worn it away, but it lingered.