Chapter 2

I woke up in my bedroom. The butler had reattached my prosthetics.

The stumps had been rebandaged. They throbbed dully.

Mom sat at the edge of the bed, eyes swollen and red. The moment she saw me awake, she grabbed my hand. "Baby, how do you feel?"

"I'm okay," I said. "Sorry I worried you."

"Don't say that." Her voice shook. "We should've taken better care of you."

Dad stood in the doorway, looking grim. "The doctor checked you over. No fractures. But—" He paused. "We've arranged for you to see a therapist. Dr. Sarah Matthews. Best in the country. She's coming this afternoon."

I nodded. "Okay."

Mom relaxed slightly, kissed my forehead, and left.

Once the door closed, I sat up and glanced out the window.

Celeste was in the garden on her phone, back turned to me. Her body language was tense.

She was probably worried I'd tell Mom and Dad she'd tripped me.

I wouldn't. Not yet.

At three p.m., Dr. Matthews arrived right on time.

"Kira, can you tell me about your scars?" she asked.

I sat on the couch, legs tucked under me. Easier without the prosthetics.

"I did them."

Her pen paused. "You did them to yourself?"

"Yes."

"Why would you hurt yourself?"

I looked at her like the answer was obvious. "Because if I hurt myself before they got angry, they wouldn't hurt me as badly. Preemptive strike."

Dr. Matthews's expression went carefully neutral. "I see."

"Do you?" I leaned forward. "When you mess up—spill coffee, miss a deadline—do you think, 'I should break my own finger before my boss finds out'?"

"Of course not—"

"Then you don't see." I leaned back. "But that's okay. Most people don't."

She tried a different approach. "Kira, hurting yourself doesn't solve anything. It only makes the people who care about you sad."

"The people who care about me," I repeated slowly.

"Yes. Your family. They love you."

"Love." I tested the word. "How do you define love, Dr. Matthews?"

She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Love. What does it mean to you? Professionally speaking."

She set down her pen. "Love is... caring about someone's wellbeing. Wanting them to be happy. Safe."

I nodded. "So when those men broke my legs, they said they loved me. Said it would help me earn money, survive. Is that love?"

"No, that's—"

"And my family," I cut her off. "What happened at the dinner last night—they saw the security footage. Celeste deliberately tore my dress. That's obvious. But this morning Mom told me Celeste 'didn't mean it' and to 'let it go.' Is that love?"

Dr. Matthews's face shifted.

"Because I used to have friends," I continued. "Other kids in that place. We'd steal food for each other. If someone messed up, we'd cover for them. Take their beatings."

I paused.

"They're all dead now. But I remember what they did for me. That feeling—that felt like love."

I looked directly at her. "So forgive me if I'm a little confused about what the word means."

She didn't write anything down. Just watched me.

After a while, she asked, "How did they die?"

"Fire," I said simply. "The men locked us in a barn and set it on fire. Said we'd outlived our usefulness."

"But you survived."

"My friend Maya pushed me out a window. The roof collapsed on her."

I smiled, but it didn't reach my eye. "I was the lucky one."

Dr. Matthews stared at me for a long time without speaking.

That evening, Dr. Matthews met privately with Mom and Dad in the study.

I wasn't supposed to hear.

But I can read lips.

Through the study window, I watched her tell them everything.

Watched Mom cry.

Watched Dad's hands clench into fists.

Watched Dr. Matthews mouth the words "severe trauma," "survival mechanism," "intensive support."

The next morning at breakfast, Celeste sat across from me.

"I heard you talked to the therapist," she said sweetly. "I hope it helped."

Garrett poured himself coffee. "Yeah, Celeste felt terrible about what happened."

I looked at Mom. At Dad.

They said nothing.

"It's fine," I said. "It was an accident."

Celeste's smile brightened.

I smiled back.

Celeste perked up suddenly. "Oh! The Hendersons are throwing a yacht party this weekend. Very exclusive."

She looked at me. "Kira, you should come. Meet some people. It'll be good for you."

Garrett nodded. "Yeah, could be fun."

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance.

"Maybe it's too soon—" Mom started.

"No," I said. "I'll go."