Chapter 3
The design was warped and nasty, like some old, sinister symbol from ages past.
The scar was raised and ugly, bulging out from her skin, looking downright monstrous.
It was a humiliating brand, the kind used to mark someone as property and a slave.
My phone slipped from my hand and hit the grass with a sharp snap.
Emily jumped at the sudden noise.
She set her daughter down and straightened up, her dress falling back into place, hiding that terrible secret.
She turned around and saw my face, ghostly pale, and my phone lying on the grass.
Emily turned to me, her voice laced with confusion and worry. "Charlie, what's wrong?"
"You look terrible," she said.
I tried to speak, but no words came out.
It was like my throat was stuffed with cotton.
The sun was so warm, but I felt like I'd fallen into an ice cellar, my whole body going cold.
My mind was completely blank.
All I could see was that ugly, twisted brand, flashing over and over in my mind.
What kind of monster would do something so cruel, leaving a scar like that on someone for the rest of their life?
She was the daughter Mom always bragged about, saying she was spoiled like a princess,' I reminded myself.
She was the sister who always looked so happy and perfect in our video calls.
Just moments ago, she was spinning her daughter in the sunlight, laughing like an angel.
All this time, she had been hiding a secret from hell right on her back.
"Charlie, what's wrong? You're scaring me," Emily said.
She hurried over, her face etched with worry.
I watched her come closer, her makeup flawless, her face picture-perfect.
Suddenly, I realized her face was just a perfect mask.
Underneath, everything was already decaying, a heart riddled with wounds, barely holding together.
Emily rushed over to me.
She looked really worried, her face tense with concern.
"Charlie, what's wrong?" Emily asked, her voice shaking a little.
"Why do you look so pale?" she pressed, looking even more anxious.
She reached out to help me.
But I instinctively took a step back.
My reaction made her freeze.
Her worried look turned into hurt and confusion in an instant.
I saw the helpless confusion in her eyes.
And I realized how much I'd lost my composure.
I couldn't let myself fall apart.
I couldn't let her know I saw it.
And I definitely couldn't let anyone else in this house catch on.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down.
I shoved that icy dread rising from my feet right back down, locking it deep inside.
I had to come up with an excuse, one that was airtight.
I bent down and picked up my phone off the grass.
The screen was completely cracked, like a shattered spiderweb.
That was my excuse.
I held up the phone and gave Emily a smile that was closer to tears than laughter.
"Emily, I'm fine.
"I just... I saw this massive spider crawl past and it totally freaked me out."
I gestured toward the rose bush beside me.
"My hand slipped and I dropped my phone," I said, trying to play it off.
That excuse was so weak.
I couldn't even convince myself.
But at that moment, it was the only thing I could think of.
Emily's face froze for a second.
She glanced in the direction I pointed.
The roses were in full bloom, but there wasn't a spider anywhere.
Her gaze came back to my face.
Her eyes were so complicated, I couldn't even tell what she was thinking.
There was doubt, scrutiny, and something else I couldn't quite read.
It was fear.
I wondered what she was so afraid of.
Was she scared I saw something, or scared I was starting to figure it out?
The air felt like it had turned to ice.
Time stretched into an eternity.
Just as I was about to break, she suddenly smiled.
That smile was perfect again, as if the strangeness from moments ago had never happened.
Emily teased, "You're still as timid as you were when you were little."
She walked over and hooked her arm through mine, all affectionate.
Emily laughed, "You freaked out over a little spider.
"Your hands are ice cold."
But her palm was even colder, totally devoid of warmth.
She pulled me toward the villa.
"Let's head inside, it's scorching out here. We'll grab a drink," Emily said.
She didn't press me any further.
She didn't even glance at my broken phone.
She acted so naturally, just like a caring older sister.
But I felt like an invisible wall had suddenly sprung up between us.
We were both silently upholding a crumbling facade.
Back in the living room, she poured me a glass of lemonade.
I hadn't even noticed when the kids slipped back upstairs.
The whole place was back to its eerie quiet.
I sat on the soft couch, but it felt like I was sitting on pins and needles.
My mind kept looping the scene I'd just witnessed: that ugly, sinister mark.
It was like a hot iron, seared deep into my brain.
What was that?
Who did it?
Was it Victor, the guy who always seemed so polished, so handsome and loaded?
Would he really leave a mark like that on my sister, one that meant humiliation and ownership?
What has my sister really gone through these twelve years?
I couldn't even bring myself to imagine it.
The more I thought about it, the colder my heart got, and my hands and feet started to go numb.
I looked at Emily, sitting across from me, sipping her coffee with that effortless grace.
She caught me staring, looked up, and gave me a gentle smile.
"Charlie, are you still jet-lagged? Want to go upstairs and get some more sleep?" she asked.
But right then, every word of her concern felt like she was subtly showing me the door.
She didn't want me here.
She didn't want me anywhere near her life.
She didn't want me to tear away that glamorous robe of hers, the one crawling with lice underneath.
I couldn't leave.
If I backed out now, I'd be leaving her all alone in this hell.
I shook my head.
"Emily, I'm not tired," I said.
I looked her straight in the eye.
I said, "Let's talk.
"It's been twelve years since we last saw each other. I want to know everything about you."
I spoke slowly, with every word carrying weight.
It was like I was trying to show her how determined I was.
Her hand trembled ever so slightly as she held her coffee cup.
She avoided my gaze.
"Alright, what do you want to talk about?" she said.
Her voice was barely above a whisper, light as a feather floating in the air.
"Let's talk about your kids. They're all adorable, but they're awfully quiet," I said.
I chose this as my opening.