Chapter 2

The next morning, I confirmed my spot.

It was a volunteer program, teaching in a remote, underserved community. Miles away. Years of commitment.

My mother had reservations. "Mia, are you sure? It's so far, and the conditions... they're not easy."

"I'm sure, Mom," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "It's what I need to do."

It was the perfect cover, the perfect escape.

Julian cornered me later that day.

"Who were you talking to on the phone this morning?" he demanded, his eyes narrowed. "It sounded serious."

He was always listening, always needing to know.

"Just finalizing some plans," I said vaguely, turning away. "Personal matters."

He didn't like that. He wasn't used to me having a life he wasn't privy to.

"Cassandra is moving into the main house next week," he announced, changing the subject abruptly. His tone left no room for discussion.

"She'll be recovering here after the... procedure. I want her to be comfortable."

He looked around my small cottage on the Vance estate, the place I'd lived for years, a sort of permanent guest.

"Make sure you clear out anything... personal," he added, his gaze lingering on a shelf of my books, a few framed photos. "Anything that might upset her, or remind her of... well, you know."

The implication was clear: erase myself.

I thought of the journals I kept as a teenager, filled with earnest, clumsy poems and declarations about Julian.

He'd found one once, years ago.

He hadn't been cruel, not exactly. Just... dismissive.

"A bit intense, Mia, don't you think?" he'd said, a small, uncomfortable smile on his face. He'd handed it back as if it were something strange, something slightly distasteful.

My devotion, my open heart, had always been undesirable to him.

He was leaving for the city with Cassandra. Appointments, consultations.

"We're taking my car," he said. "Cassandra prefers the ride."

He didn't offer me a lift, even though the city was where I also needed to go for my own pre-op checks.

I was left to find my own way, a familiar pattern.

The bus ride was long, a slow journey through sprawling suburbs into the bustling city.

I watched families, couples, people living their ordinary lives.

A profound sense of solitude settled over me.

The only kindness I received was from an elderly woman who offered me half her sandwich when she saw I hadn't eaten.

A stranger's compassion, stark against the indifference of the family I had sacrificed for.

When I returned to the cottage that evening, the door was ajar.

My heart tightened.

I pushed it open slowly.

Cassandra stood in the middle of my small living room.

In her hands, she held my grandmother's antique silver locket.

It was my most treasured possession, my only tangible link to my grandparents, to a past before the Vances, before the debt.

Miniature portraits of them were nestled inside. It symbolized family, resilience. My history.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

Cassandra turned, a slow, deliberate movement. Her expression was one of feigned innocence.

"Just admiring your... trinkets, Mia. Julian said you wouldn't mind."

Julian walked in then, drawn by our voices.

"Cassy, what's going on?" he asked, his eyes immediately going to her.

"Mia seems upset that I was looking at her things," Cassandra said, her lower lip trembling slightly. "I was just curious. This will all be my home soon, after all."

"It's a private item, Julian," I said, my voice tight. "She had no right."

Julian sighed, stepping between us, placing a protective arm around Cassandra.

"Mia, don't be difficult. Cassandra is going to be living here. She's my fiancée. Soon, she'll be my wife. She's just trying to feel at home."

His justification was swift, absolute. Cassandra was right, I was wrong.

Cassandra, emboldened by Julian's support, smiled. A small, cruel smile.

She dangled the locket from her fingers.

"It's rather old-fashioned, isn't it?" she mused.

Then, with a little flick of her wrist, as if it were an accident, the locket slipped from her grasp.

It hit the hardwood floor.

There was a sickening little crack.

I gasped, rushing forward, but Cassandra stepped on it. Deliberately.

Her heel ground down. I heard the clasp snap, the delicate silver casing crunch.

My breath caught in my throat.

I dropped to my knees, snatching up the locket. The clasp was broken, the front dented, one of the miniature portraits dislodged.

Tears welled, hot and furious. This wasn't just a piece of jewelry. It was them. It was everything.

"You did that on purpose!" I choked out, looking up at her.

Cassandra's face was a mask of mock surprise. "Oh, dear! I'm so clumsy. Did it break?"

Julian looked down at the damaged locket, then at my distraught face.

He seemed more annoyed than concerned.

"It's just a piece of jewelry, Mia," he said, his voice impatient. "I'll buy you a new one. A better one."

Monetary compensation. His solution for everything.

He didn't understand. He never understood.

The locket wasn't just an item. It was irreplaceable.

My grandmother's smile, my grandfather's steady gaze, now damaged, violated by her careless cruelty and his blind indifference.

The tears finally spilled, a torrent of grief and rage.

He watched my breakdown, his expression hardening.

This, too, was probably "a bit much" for him.