Chapter 1

By the time my dad found me, three days had already passed since I died, trapped in the stifling storage room on the top floor.

Everyone said it was just heatstroke.

Only I knew the truth—I had been "accidentally" locked in there by Emily.

My dad held my stiff, cold body and cried desperately, trying to bring me back with his warmth.

Maybe he had forgotten how he had held me the first time Emily locked me in that dark room and how I had shivered in his arms.

At that time, he'd whispered, "Stop it, Sophie. I'm exhausted. Just don't piss her off again, okay?"

*****

Emily Gordon, my stepmother, didn't like the photos of my mom.

She said since my mom had already gone, I should learn to move on.

Back then, she wasn't my stepmother yet. My dad told me to call her Mrs. Gordon.

She was pretty and always smiled at me, but there was never any warmth in her eyes.

When my dad took down the picture of me and my mom from the wall, he hesitated for a long time.

The glass in the frame caught the reflections of all three of us—him, Emily, and me.

My dad was always tall, but when he held Emily, he usually bent down a little.

He handed the photo to me, crouched down, and whispered with tears in his eyes, "Sophie, let's keep your mom in our hearts, okay?"

I nodded and took the photo, which was bigger than my face.

In the photo, my mom was holding me, smiling brightly.

Emily came over and gently stroked my head, her tone soothing as she said, "Good girl, Sophie. Let's leave the past behind. From now on, I'll love with all my heart."

I held the photo close, saying nothing.

Later, my mom's clothes, shoes, and her favorite blue vase all disappeared.

My dad told me he had packed everything away, but I knew the truth—they were thrown out for good.

I saw a piece of my mom's flowered dress in the trash bin downstairs.

That night, I locked myself in my room, sneakily took the big family photo out of the frame, and swapped it with one of my drawings.

It showed my parents and me holding hands together.

After that, I found a tiny photo of my mom tucked away in one of my dad's books and hid it under my pillow.

I figured that way, she could stay with me every night, even if it was just her photo.

Little did I know that when her photo came down off the wall, I was already the one who didn't belong here anymore.

Not long after, Emily became my stepmother when she married my dad.

On their wedding day, I wore a white dress and was asked to be the flower girl.

My dad's friends kept saying I was such a good girl, and Emily held my hand the whole time, grinning at everyone.

Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that her hands were cold.

The day after the wedding, Emily's son Lucas moved in.

He was a year younger than me, and honestly, the kid cried all the time.

As soon as he got there, he piled up all the toys in my room on the floor and said they were his now.

I refused because they were gifts from my dad.

Lucas just threw himself on the floor, rolling around and bawling his head off.

Emily rushed in, and instead of talking to Lucas, she took my hand and dragged me out of my room.

She crouched down, looked me straight in the eyes, and gave me that gentle look she always used.

She said, "Sophie, you're Lucas's sister, so you need to be patient with him, okay?"

I looked at her and nodded.

And just like that, my bedroom became Lucas'.

My bed, desk, and the bunny stickers on the wall were all his now.

I was moved to a tiny, gloomy room at the back of the house, with only a small window that let in no sunlight.

My dad wanted to say something, but Emily gently tugged his sleeve, flashing him one of her practiced smiles.

She said, "Sophie is a big girl now, and she needs her own space. Lucas is afraid of the dark, so it makes more sense for him to have the sunny room."

Then my dad fell silent.

From then on, the house had new rules.

At dinner, the very last dessert was always given to Lucas, and Emily said, "Lucas is working hard; he needs to eat more."

Every time my dad bought me new paintbrushes, Lucas snatched them from me before I could even get a chance to try them, and he would use them to paint on the wall.

Whenever Emily saw this, she would only ever give Lucas a gentle pat on the head and then say to me, "Sophie, you're his sister, so you have to be more tolerant, okay? It's just some paintbrushes."

Whenever I was watching cartoons, as soon as Lucas came by, he would grab the remote and change it to his show.

If I protested, Emily would frown and say, "Sophie, why can't you be more considerate? Let your brother watch for a while. What's the problem?"

Whenever I glanced at my dad, he would just look away, quietly put some food in my plate, or turn the TV volume up, pretending he hadn't seen or heard a thing.

Gradually, I grew quieter until I hardly spoke at all.

I turned into a mere shadow drifting through this house.

I learned to eat in silence, quietly make my way back to my tiny bedroom, and keep out of everyone's way, so no one would ever have to notice me.

Lucas had this thing for shredding my sketchbooks, especially the ones with pictures of my mom.

One time, I walked in right as he was tearing one up. I lunged to grab it back, but Lucas instantly flopped onto the ground, put on his best dramatic meltdown, and started bawling, "Dad, help. Sophie just hit me."

Emily and my dad rushed in from the living room.

Emily immediately scooped Lucas into her arms, comforting him tenderly, while shooting me a reproachful look.

My dad glanced at the shredded paper all over the floor, then looked at me and sighed, exhaustion written all over his face.

He came over, took my hand, and without saying a word, pushed me out of Lucas's room.

"Sophie," Dad whispered in the hallway, his voice barely above a hush, like he didn't want anyone else to hear.

He went on. "I know you're upset, but can't you just let Lucas be? Don't cause any trouble for me."

I looked at him, only to find him worn out.

I nodded.

That night, curled up under my blanket, I took out my mom's photo from beneath my pillow and whispered to her.

I said, "Mom, I don't have a home anymore."

Tears fell onto the photo, making her smiling face blur.