Chapter 3

“Duh, obviously.”

Tom lifts his head from Lyra’s lap, staring at me with those big, fake-innocent eyes. He doesn’t even hesitate—not a single flutter of his eyelashes.

“Where are you really going?”

“Florida, duh. Dad says it’ll look great for my Ivy League apps someday. What’s it to you?”

An eight-year-old kid, lying straight to the face of the mom who stayed up every sick night, sacrificed her whole career for him, telling a perfect, seamless lie—without even batting an eye.

“Right.” I let out a cold, dry laugh, my voice rough as sandpaper. “What kind of camp is this, exactly? Want me to start packing your bags right now?”

“Ugh, stop!” Tom slams his tablet down on the couch, yelling at me like I’m the worst person alive. “Why do you have to nag about everything? It’s just an outdoor parent-kid program! Leave me alone!”

“No.” My voice is flat, final. “You can’t go.”

The air in the living room goes dead silent, thick enough to cut with a knife.

Tom blinks for a second, then shoots straight up out of Lyra’s lap. “Why the hell not?”

“You’re too young.” I keep my voice steady. “A whole month is way too long. And besides—”

“Not this again!” Tom’s voice shoots up, his face bright red with rage. “You always do this! You never let me do anything!”

“Tom—”

“I wanna sleep over at my friend’s house? No. I wanna eat snacks? No. I wanna play video games? No. Now I wanna go to camp with Dad? Still no!” He jumps off the couch, screaming right in my face. “Are you, like, a control freak or something? Aunt Lyra never acts like this!”

“Tom, watch your tone.” Jack finally speaks up, but there’s zero actual anger in his voice—just that fake, patronizing softness. “Your mom’s just looking out for you.”

“She’s not looking out for me!” Tom’s eyes are wet, but it’s rage, not sadness. “She just wants to keep me trapped here forever, never let me go anywhere! I hate her!”

Those words stab straight into my chest, sharp as a knife.

“Jack.” I turn to him, staring dead into his eyes. “You’re full of shit, aren’t you? Are you really taking Tom to camp in Florida? Or are you taking Lyra on a vacation?”

Jack’s pupils shrink for a split second, his face going pale just for a heartbeat. Then he slaps that “professional therapist” mask right back on.

“What are you even talking about?” He frowns, acting all offended. “Grace, do you hear yourself right now?”

“I heard you.” My voice is ice cold. “That phone call you had. You’re taking some woman to the beach for a whole month. You were gonna use Tom as your cover.”

Then Jack laughs.

“Grace.” He speaks slow, low, that patronizing “therapist talking to a crazy patient” tone he uses when he wants to make someone feel small. “Listen to yourself. Lyra’s our cousin, she’s just staying with us. You think I’m cheating on you with her? Do you realize how insane that sounds?”

“Insane?”

My voice shakes. “She walked out of our bathroom wearing your shirt, using your body wash, spraying my perfume—”

“Her luggage hasn’t even arrived yet!” Jack’s voice spikes, then he forces it back down, soft and condescending. “Grace, something’s wrong with you. The pregnancy hormones are making you spiral, making up these crazy stories that aren’t even real.”

“I’m not—”

“You’ve been so weird lately.” Tom’s voice even has this fake little pitying edge to it. “You’re always crying or yelling. Dad’s right, you’ve been totally different since you got pregnant.”

Lyra, who’s been standing there loving every second of this, finally speaks up, all fake tears and hurt. “Grace… why would you think that of me? Maybe I should just move out!”

“No!” Tom yells immediately. “I don’t want Aunt Lyra to leave! You leave!”

Jack puts a hand on Tom’s shoulder, looking at me with that smug “see? Even the kid agrees” glint in his eyes.

“Grace.” His voice goes calm again, sharp with that unarguable authority he uses on his patients. “Your mental health is clearly unwell. Paranoia, mood swings, delusions. You can’t handle this on your own.”

“I’m a licensed therapist. You should trust me.” He pauses, a cold flash in his eyes, his voice dropping so low only I can hear it. “If you keep acting like this, to protect you and this family… I’m gonna have to consider having you involuntarily committed for trauma treatment.”