Chapter 1

The world swam back into focus with a gasp. My throat felt tight, a phantom itch.

I was on my bed, the flowered comforter bunched around me.

Sunlight, too bright, sliced through the curtains.

Then I heard them. Voices, sharp and angry, from downstairs. Mom and Dad.

"You never loved me, David! It was always her, always Emily!" Mom' s voice was a shriek.

A dull ache throbbed in my temples. Emily. Mom' s sister. Dad' s old love. The ghost in our house.

A memory, so vivid it felt real, clung to me: peanuts, my throat closing, Mom watching. A taste of death.

It wasn' t a dream. It was a warning. A premonition.

My heart hammered. This time, things would be different. I wouldn't let her.

Mom had married Dad by trapping him, years ago, when he was heartbroken over Emily leaving town. She'd told him she was pregnant. A lie, I found out later from a stray comment Dad made when he was drunk one Thanksgiving.

She never forgave him for Emily. She never forgave me for being his daughter.

I was just something she owned, something to control.

Now, with that premonition burning in my mind, I saw her clearly for the first time. Not just a difficult mother. A monster.

My resolve hardened into something cold and sharp. I had to get out. And I had to take Dad with me.

The immediate fight was college.

"Sarah, we've discussed this. Oceanview Community is a fine school. And you'll be close to home," Mom said later that day, her voice syrupy sweet, a tone that always set my teeth on edge.

She wanted me nearby, under her thumb. Always.

"Okay, Mom," I said, my voice carefully neutral.

She beamed, a conqueror' s smile.

Dad looked at me, a flicker of something – worry? hope? – in his tired eyes. He ran a hand through his thinning hair.

"That's good, Sarah," he said quietly, avoiding Mom's gaze. He always avoided her gaze.

I knew he secretly wanted me to go to my dream school, the one out of state, the one with the great writing program. He'd even slipped me the brochure months ago, a silent encouragement.

I gave him a tiny, almost imperceptible nod when Mom wasn't looking.

My compliance was a mask. Inside, I was already planning.

My guidance counselor, Ms. Evans, was an ally. We' d talked about early decision for the out-of-state university. The application was already in. I just needed to switch my declared choice at the last minute.

And I started collecting. A small, easily hidden voice recorder. A couple of nanny cams, bought with saved allowance money.

Mom' s control was everywhere. She' d check my phone, read my emails if she could. My room wasn' t private; she' d go through my things, "tidying up," she' d call it.

Once, when I was fifteen, I' d tried to go to a summer camp two hours away. I' d saved up, filled out the forms.

Mom found out. She didn' t yell. She got quiet. Then, she called every single relative, crying about how I was abandoning her, how ungrateful I was. She told them I was "troubled."

Aunt Carol called me, then Uncle Mike. They told me to be a good daughter.

The shame was suffocating. I stayed home. Mom had smiled, that same sweet, victorious smile.

That was then. This was now. The premonition had changed me. I wasn't just scared anymore. I was cold.

I felt overwhelmed, the thought of two more years, even at a community college, under her roof, her constant scrutiny.

"And I'll help you pick out your classes, honey," Mom said, her hand on my arm, a little too tight. "We can make sure you have a good schedule, nothing too stressful."

Her "solution" was always more control.

I pulled away, gently. "Thanks, Mom. I'll look at the catalog."

She frowned, a tiny crack in her perfect facade. "Don't be difficult, Sarah."

I didn't say anything. I just looked at her. For the first time, I didn't feel the urge to cry or shrink. I just felt... a strange, detached calm.

The fight was just beginning.