Chapter 3

Saturday arrived too quickly.

I spent the afternoon at the dollar store.

The plan was simple: gifts. Ridiculously childish, inappropriate gifts.

My mother, if she were alive, would have been horrified. But she was gone, a gentle memory I cherished, and this was about survival.

The doorbell rang at seven.

My father, looking proud in his best suit, went to greet them.

I lingered in the hallway, clutching a plastic bag.

Mr. and Mrs. Hayes entered, all smiles and expensive tailoring.

And then, Sophia.

She was seventeen, a vision of blonde hair and effortless grace, just as I remembered. Her eyes, though, they seemed different. Less cool, more... searching?

Nonsense. I was projecting.

"Liam, come say hello to Sophia," Dad called, a hint of command in his voice.

I shuffled forward.

"Sophia," I said, my voice flat. "I got you something."

I reached into the bag and pulled out the first item.

A cheap, glittery plastic tiara.

"For the princess," I said, offering it to her with a deliberately goofy grin.

My father' s face went pale. Mrs. Hayes' smile froze. Mr. Hayes coughed.

Sophia just looked at me.

Then, to my utter shock, a genuine smile spread across her face. A warm, beautiful smile.

"Thank you, Liam," she said, her voice soft. She actually took the tiara and, for a heart-stopping second, I thought she might put it on.

She didn't, but she held it like it was something precious.

I was floored. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

I pressed on, pulling out the next gift.

A generic superhero action figure, the kind with stiff limbs and a bad paint job.

"And a hero, to protect you," I mumbled, feeling like an idiot.

Sophia' s smile widened. She took the action figure, turning it over in her hands.

"He's perfect," she said, looking directly at me. There was an unreadable emotion in her eyes.

My father was practically vibrating with mortification. "Liam, son, perhaps..."

"No, it's quite alright, Mr. Walker," Sophia's mother said, her smile a little strained but recovering. "Liam has a... unique sense of humor."

Sophia didn't take her eyes off me.

The dinner was an exercise in awkwardness, mostly for my father, who kept trying to steer the conversation to my "sudden academic focus."

I barely said a word, too busy trying to understand Sophia's reaction.

She wasn't supposed to like the gifts. She was supposed to be offended, or at least, disdainful.

This was all wrong.