Mia's POV
The air in Dr. Brown's house was… wrong. Not dangerous, just wrong. It was clean, too clean. Structured. Controlled in a way I didn't understand.
There were no slammed doors, no whispered threats. No silence that crushed you from the inside. This quiet was orderly, planned. There was no tension to play with, no cracks to slip through.
Dr. Brown was calm. Her voice was steady, but final. She meant what she said, and I couldn't push her. I didn't know how to manipulate this kind of house. There was no chaos to mold to my advantage. There was just… space. Time. Rules that didn't bend.
Sophia was worse. She didn't buy my story. She barely pretended to. She was polite, but her eyes sliced right through me. I told her Audrey was the liar, that I was the victim, but she just stared like she already knew I was bluffing.
I told myself Laura and Elias would fix this. That they were probably working to get me back. I clung to that. They wouldn't leave me here. They wouldn't give up on me.
But this place was pressing in on me like a slow, tightening grip. I couldn't figure out how to take control. I couldn't figure out how to spin this.
Then the posts started.
Screenshots. My notes. My journal. My words, plastered everywhere.
The story I had carefully built was collapsing in front of me. But it wasn't gone. Not yet. I could still fix it. I had to. I just needed to find the right angle.
Sophia's POV
I have seen kids come and go in our house. My mum has always made this home a soft landing place, a refuge for kids who need space to breathe, to heal, to feel safe again. I have a stack of teddy bears in my closet for the little ones who can't sleep without something to hold. I always know when to offer comfort and when to step back quietly. It's second nature to me now.
But Mia was different. Mia wasn't frightened. Mia wasn't broken in the way the others were. Mia wasn't a victim. She was something else entirely. And no matter how hard I tried to be polite, I could barely mask my disgust when I looked at her.
Mum always says we have to welcome new kids. That we have to give them a chance, give them space. Usually, I do. Usually, I want to. But not with Mia. With Mia, I just couldn't.
Part of me wishes it had been Audrey who came here instead. I would have shown her what sibling love is, what it's like to have a sister who actually cares. I would have shared my music, my books, my space. I would have made her feel safe. But I got Mia. And all I felt was the need to keep her at arm's length.
Thank God we don't go to the same school. I'm in high school, Liam's in elementary, and Mia is stuck at Millbrook Middle School, right where she belongs, in the middle of the disaster she created.
Mia's story about Audrey didn't add up. It was too rehearsed, too perfect, too defensive. I didn't even bother challenging her. I just waited. Because people like Mia always reveal themselves eventually.
Dinner on Sunday night was normal. Liam was buzzing about his upcoming spelling bee, practicing words in between bites. I was explaining my science project, testing plant growth under different light sources. Mum was telling us about a funny story from her hospital rounds. It was warm, easy, and full of laughter.
Then Liam, in his usual clumsy way, knocked over his juice.
Mia froze. I saw the way her eyes widened, how her shoulders tensed like she was bracing for something terrible. But that's not how we work here. Liam immediately said, "Oops, sorry," grabbed a towel, and started wiping the mess, still smiling as he cleaned it up.
Mum handed him another napkin without missing a beat. We went right back to our conversation like nothing had happened.
I caught Mia watching us, confusion written all over her face. She didn't understand. She didn't know how to process that in this house; mistakes don't come with a price tag. Here, you clean up your mess, and you move on. No threats. No waiting for the storm.
That's when I realized I needed to keep an eye on her. Liam is younger, and Mia is the type to look for someone smaller to break when no one else is left.
Later that night, the texts from school started coming in. Screenshots. Posts. Mia's own notes and journal entries, circling everywhere. Step by step instructions on how she tormented Audrey, how she twisted the truth, how she carefully dismantled her piece by piece.
I walked into our room, holding my phone. Mia was already scrolling, her hands trembling.
"Mia," I said, my voice cold, steady.
She flinched like I had struck her. "What?"
I scrolled to the ugliest part and read her own words aloud.
"I'll dismantle her piece by piece until she's as broken as I am."
Her face drained of color. "I was just upset, okay? I didn't mean it like that."
I narrowed my eyes. "This isn't someone upset. This is someone who planned to destroy her."
Mia scrambled for another excuse, but I cut her off.
"You're not the victim, Mia. You're a bully. And people like you, if they don't get help, they end up in a psych ward or worse, prison."
She sat there, stunned, finally seeing that I wasn't going to play along.
I turned to my closet, grabbed my pillow and blanket. "I'm sleeping on the couch tonight. And probably tomorrow. Until Mum figures out how to move you out of this room." I stopped in the doorway. "Don't talk to me. I'm not your friend. I'm not your roommate. I want nothing to do with you."
I closed the door behind me with a soft click that sounded final.
Mum wants this to be a safe house. A place where kids can start over.
But Mia?
I hope she's placed somewhere else after Wednesday's hearing.
Because this house is safe.
And Mia doesn't belong in safe places.
Dr. Brown's POV
This home is about structure and safety. We talk about things here. We own our mistakes.
When Mia arrived, I saw her flinch at every sound, every door closing, every sudden movement. She wasn't used to calm. She was used to control through fear.
At dinner that night, Sophia and Liam chatted easily. Sophia explained her science project. Liam practiced his spelling words for the upcoming spelling bee.
It was a normal, loud, joyful dinner. Then Liam knocked over his juice. Mia's entire body locked up, waiting for the explosion.
But Liam just sighed, said "Oops," and went to grab a towel. We barely paused our conversation.
Mia kept looking at him, at me, at the juice like she was waiting for something terrible. It never came.
That's when I realized she didn't know what a safe home looked like. She didn't trust peace.
She was going to have to learn. Slowly.
Mia's POV
After Sophia left, I finally opened Instagram. The comments were brutal.
"She's dangerous."
"She needs help."
"Imagine living with someone like this."
"She's a psycho."
I felt the panic claw up my throat. I was losing control of the story. It wasn't gone yet, but it was slipping.
I could still fix this. There had to be a way.
Monday morning, Dr. Brown dropped me at school, wished me a good day. I didn't speak to her.
Inside, the silence followed me like a shadow. Conversations stopped. Teachers looked at me like I was contagious. Friends I used to have wouldn't meet my eyes.
When I sat down at lunch, they got up and walked away.
I locked myself in a bathroom stall and listened to other girls laughing, talking about me like I wasn't there.
"She's seriously crazy."
"Freak."
"She deserves whatever's coming."
I blinked back the tears. I wouldn't cry here. I wouldn't let them see me crack.
In the hallway after school, I saw Audrey. She was alone. I wanted to talk to her. But when I got close, she brushed past me like I didn't exist.
The story was slipping away from me, but I'm not finished.
Not yet.
Mia's Social Worker's POV
The Jones case was the kind that haunted you.
I'd been working with children in the system for nearly ten years, but this one lingered in a way I wasn't prepared for. Audrey's story had gutted me, but Mia-Mia was a different weight entirely.
From the start, Mia had been reluctant to leave the Jones household. She hadn't clung to me like most displaced kids did. She hadn't cried or asked where she was going next. She'd only asked me, again and again, "When can I go back home?" Her voice hadn't wavered. Her eyes had been sharp, stubborn, insistent.
It left a knot in my stomach every time.
Mia didn't seem afraid of the Joneses. That was the problem. The records showed clear, sustained abuse of Audrey. But Mia's history with them was… complicated. She'd been part of the household for two years. She was involved. But she wasn't afraid of them. She wanted to return.
And that terrified me.
Because what if the Joneses used that? What if they paraded Mia in court as the "child who wanted to come back," painting themselves as loving parents torn apart by a so-called troubled girl's lies? If they won Mia back, would they then argue that Audrey should return, too?
The thought chilled me.
I'd read the files. I'd seen the evidence. Mia wasn't just another kid caught in the crossfire. The journals, the threatening notes, the detailed plans to torment Audrey, those weren't just adolescent outbursts. They were cold. Calculated. Cruel.
I was horrified by what Mia had done. She was thirteen, but sometimes she didn't feel thirteen. Sometimes she felt like something much older, much harder, wearing the skin of a middle schooler. If it were up to me, I would strongly recommend a psychiatric evaluation. She needed more than therapy. She needed intensive psychological intervention. But I could only recommend therapy. It was still the parents' decision.
And that's where the dilemma sat like a stone in my chest.
Even if the court granted the Joneses custody of Mia again, even if they genuinely didn't mistreat her before, what would they do to her now? Would they see her as a weapon, a pawn to win Audrey back? Or worse, would they resent Mia for failing to hold the secret together? Would they punish her in Audrey's place?
I couldn't predict them anymore. I wasn't sure anyone could.
I tapped my pen anxiously against the folder on my desk, re-reading the hearing schedule. It was Monday. The emergency hearing was set for Wednesday. I needed to visit Mia again before then. I needed to gauge where she was emotionally, how she was adjusting, whether she was still clinging to the fantasy of going back.
Maybe she would soften. Maybe Dr. Brown's structured home would help her start to see what a safe space could feel like.
But the truth was, I wasn't sure she wanted to.
I make a mental note to clear my schedule for Tuesday afternoon. I need to see Mia in person. No phone call could get me the answers I need. I had to see her eyes, read her posture, and look past her rehearsed lines.
Because in the courtroom, I would have to stand up and recommend what's best for her.
The problem was, I wasn't sure I knew what that was.