Chapter One

Laurel's POV

"You're adopted, you know. Mom and Dad got you out of foster care."

My sister said that to me during a fight when I was eight.

I ran to my parents in tears, needing them to tell me it wasn't true. Instead, they pulled her into their arms and nodded at me.

"It's true. Your real parents didn't want you."

For the next fifteen years, I lived like a package that could be returned to sender at any moment.

I never fought with my sister and never asked for anything. I rushed to finish every chore and came in first on every test, all so they'd feel like keeping me was worth it.

This October, I flew home a few days early so I could stay a little longer.

My hand had barely touched the doorknob when I heard my sister's voice coming from the living room. She was telling a room full of relatives a funny story.

"My sister is honestly hilarious. We got into a fight when we were kids, and I just said she was adopted. And she believed me."

"Still believes it, actually. Best part is, it turned her into our very own little maid."

"You never told her?" one of the relatives asked, stunned.

It was Mom who answered, as casually as if she were talking about the weather.

"Why would we? Ever since she bought it, she's been an angel. She jumps on every chore before anyone even has to ask."

"Honestly, best joke we ever made. It's paid off big time."

A chill ran through me, and I froze outside the door.

So fifteen years of walking on eggshells was just a punchline to them.

I didn't storm in and demand an explanation. I stood right where I was, pulled out my phone, and signed the contract for a five-year assignment in Sweden.

If they loved this joke so much, fine. I'd give them exactly what they wanted.

The "outsider" would walk out of their lives for good.

---

"So it's signed?"

My manager's voice boomed through the phone and echoed down the empty hallway.

I was still standing at the front door, my thumb just off the confirm button.

"It's signed." I pressed the phone to my ear. I sounded so calm I barely recognized myself.

"Then we need to move fast. You're on the October fifth flight, connecting in Copenhagen and landing in Stockholm. Admin already booked it."

Which meant I'd be gone the day after tomorrow.

The door stayed shut, and the laughter inside showed no sign of dying down.

Vivian's voice rose above everyone else's. In this house, it always had.

"You checking a lot of bags?"

"Just one suitcase. That's it."

"Okay. When you land, call the team lead, Ethan Crawford. He'll have someone pick you up."

After I hung up, I sank down next to the fire extinguisher in the hallway and didn't move for three whole minutes.

My hands were steady, but my heart was pounding. It wasn't panic. It was something half ice-cold and half burning, churning in my chest.

Fifteen years ago, I was eight. How was I supposed to know the difference between the truth and a joke?

My sister said it and my parents nodded. As far as I was concerned, that settled it.

So in every fight, I was the first to apologize. Whenever someone brought up buying new clothes, I was the one who said I didn't need any.

At every family dinner, I took the extra seat at the corner of the table without being told, afraid to take a spot that belonged to someone else.

And now, on the other side of a door, my mom was laughing.

Laughing at how obedient I'd been. Laughing at how well their little trick had worked.

The door swung open without warning.

It was my dad's sister, Aunt Sharon, carrying a fruit platter. She nearly crashed into me and let out a startled cry.

"Laurel? When did you get here?"

My parents had spent ages picking out Vivian's name. It carried every hope they had for her future.

My name sounded like they'd put thought into it too. The truth was, right before filling out my birth certificate, Dad flipped open a baby name book and went with whatever his finger landed on. He didn't even bother to check what it meant.

"Just now." I stood up and brushed off my pants, even though they were perfectly clean.

Aunt Sharon hooked her arm through mine and pulled me inside, all smiles.

"Don't just stand out here, come in! Your mom made salmon, Vivian's favorite. We're celebrating her birthday!"

October third was Vivian's birthday. Mine was September twenty-eighth, five days earlier.

Nobody brought it up.

The living room wasn't over the top, but every detail had clearly been thought through.

There were strings of dusty blue balloons, picked to match Vivian's taste, and a cake that read "Happy 27th Birthday, Vivian!"

In the kitchen, my mom, Diane, was cooking alongside her sister. Her apron was spattered with grease, and her eyes crinkled at the corners from laughing.

My dad, Gregory, sat on the couch drinking coffee with my uncle. The TV was on, but nobody was watching it.

Vivian was curled up at the other end of the couch, scrolling on her phone. When she saw me walk in, she lifted her chin a little.

"Oh, so you actually showed up? I figured you couldn't make it this week."

"I made it."

"Just drop your stuff in your room. I put a few things in there the other day, so you'll have to clear some space."

I pushed open the door to my tiny bedroom.

Her off-season clothes were piled all over the bed, leftover skincare samples had taken over the dresser, and a box of old magazines ate up most of the desk.

A few things, she'd said. She'd basically turned my room into a storage closet.

I moved her stuff into the corner piece by piece until there was enough space to sleep on half the bed.

It was only two nights. Half a bed was plenty.

"Laurel, come help bring the food out!" Aunt Sharon called from the living room.

At this family's dinner table, I was never the one eating. I was the one serving.

There were nine of us and only eight chairs. The ninth seat was a folding stool I brought in from the balcony myself.

"You sit there. You're right by the kitchen, so you can grab whatever we need."

Mom didn't even look up. She sounded like a restaurant manager assigning a server her section.

They'd already started opening presents.

Aunt Sharon gave her a silk scarf, and my mom's sister gave her a lipstick set. My parents brought out a watch with Vivian's name engraved on the back.

"Dad, this must've cost a fortune!" She held it up in front of her face, eyes shining.

Dad smiled, which didn't happen often. "A little over two grand. You're worth it."

Over two thousand dollars.

Last month, I'd sent sixteen hundred dollars of my paycheck home. I had no idea how much of the watch on her wrist was paid for with my money.

"Laurel, what did you get your sister?" Aunt Sharon asked with a big smile.

Every pair of eyes at the table turned to me.

I took a birthday card out of my bag and handed it over. There was cash inside.

"Four hundred. Get yourself whatever you want."

Vivian glanced inside and tossed it onto the table like a used napkin.

"Oh. Thanks."

Mom leaned in, clearly annoyed, and kept her voice low.

"Just four hundred? Your sister's always been so good to you. You couldn't be a little more generous?"

My fork stopped in midair.

Good to me?

Good how? By telling an eight-year-old this wasn't her home, then keeping the lie going for fifteen years?

Or by calling me their most obedient little maid just a few minutes ago?

I swallowed my food along with everything I wanted to say.

The dinner was loud and cheerful from start to finish. After all these years, everyone knew their role by heart.

Mine was to bring out the food, keep everyone's plates full, then clear the table and do the dishes when it was over.

I only ever had one line.

"Okay."