Adeline lay awake long after the house had fallen silent.
Her stomach churned with hunger, but she couldn't bring herself to eat. Not here. Not under the same roof as people who saw her as nothing but a burden.
She sifted through one of the boxes next to the nightstand, shoving aside old shoes and a broken makeup palette. Something stiff caught her fingers. She pulled it out carefully.
A folder—creased and speckled with dust. Inside, a parchment certificate read in bold black letters: Bachelor of Fine Arts – Graphic Design.
Her breath hitched.
She didn't remember studying design, but something about the neat lines of the fonts, the way her name stood proud on the page—it stirred something deep within her, something almost like pride.
They had shoved her degree into a box like it was garbage.
That was enough clarity.
She surveyed the cold, impersonal guest room. The truth had never been so clear: this was not home. It never had been.
She would go. Find work. Begin again.
But first—answers.
She leaned back against the bed, cinching Charlotte's hoodie tighter around her shoulders, and grabbed for her phone. Charlotte had shared the password earlier, muttering it with a casual familiarity.
Your birthday. You never did change it, despite telling me you would. So predictable.
She typed in the numbers, the screen lighting up.
Dozens of messages, missed calls, voicemails, and social media tags filled the screen.
She silenced them all and opened her gallery.
The photos flicked through, a stranger's life on display.
There were pictures of herself—hair curled and polished, long and flowing—standing next to a man with a smile that could charm anyone. Luke. He had his arm around her waist in some, his hand gripping hers a little too tightly in others. In a few, she laughed—eyes closed, arms slung around his neck. To the casual observer, they seemed like any happy couple.
But the more she stared, the colder she felt.
In some of the photos, her smile looked forced. Her eyes gleamed with something she couldn't name—like she was trying to convince herself that she was happy.
And then there were the selfies with Charlotte—laughing in cafes, sprawled together on a couch in what looked like a tiny apartment, hugging during the holidays. The love between them seemed genuine, even if Adeline couldn't quite grasp the memory of it.
Other faces appeared too—unfamiliar, smiling as if they had known her forever.
She tried to piece it together: parties, holidays, concerts, birthdays. A fragmented life of a girl trying to love, be loved, and belong.
But at some point, the cracks began to show.
Her finger lingered over a photo of Luke and Hazel.
They were standing too close to each other.
Adeline zoomed in, her heart racing. Luke's hand rested too casually on the small of Hazel's back. Hazel's head tilted toward him, drawn in by some invisible force.
The timestamp froze her.
Three weeks before the accident.
Adeline quickly closed the gallery, shutting off her phone, her heart hammering in her chest.
She lay there in the dark, clutching her degree like a lifeline, a silent vow forming in her mind.
This wasn't her end.
This was her awakening.
Tomorrow, she would find work. She would pack what she could. She would leave this house.
She would rebuild herself—not into the girl she used to be, but into someone who would never allow herself to be erased again.