Chapter 3

The drive to Vermont was long, a blur of highways and changing leaves.

Autumn was settling in, painting the hills in gold and crimson.

Lily had loved this time of year.

Our old house, small and a little worn, felt like a sanctuary.

The scent of woodsmoke and damp earth.

Real.

I arranged Lily's funeral for a few days later.

A simple service at the local church, then burial beside our mother.

The town was small, everyone knew everyone.

They remembered Lily, her bright smile despite her illness.

Their quiet sympathy was a balm.

The day after the funeral, I was sitting on the porch swing, Lily' s favorite spot.

The air was crisp, the grief a heavy cloak.

A sleek black car pulled up.

Ethan.

He got out, looking out of place in his expensive suit against the backdrop of my mother' s faded garden gnomes.

He strode towards me, a forced, confident smile on his face.

"Sarah, there you are."

"I knew you'd come to your senses and run home to mommy."

His voice was light, almost playful, as if this was all a game.

"Figured you'd be here, crying your eyes out, ready for me to rescue you."

I just looked at him, my face blank.

The calmness was still there, a shield.

"What do you want, Ethan?"

His smile faltered a little at my tone.

"Want? I want my wife back, of course."

"This little tantrum has gone on long enough."

He stepped onto the porch, invading my space.

"Grandfather is being ridiculous, cutting off my funds."

"It's all your fault, you know. Stirring up trouble."

He reached for me, to pull me up.

"Come on, pack your things. We're going back to New York."

I didn't move.

"I'm not going anywhere with you, Ethan."

His eyes narrowed. The charm vanished, replaced by the familiar cruelty.

"Don't be stupid, Sarah. You have nowhere else to go."

"You think this little hick town can offer you anything?"

"You need me. You've always needed me."

He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in.

"Stop this nonsense. Now."

"Let go of me, Ethan." My voice was low, but firm.

His grip tightened. "Or what? You'll cry to your dead sister?"

The words were meant to hurt, to provoke a reaction.

I felt a flicker of pain, but it was distant.

He saw no tears, no outburst.

It seemed to enrage him further.

"You're still mine, Sarah. Don't you forget that."

He tried to drag me towards the steps.

I pulled back, stumbling.

He shoved me.

Not hard, but I was off balance, still weak.

I fell against the porch railing, my arm hitting the wood with a crack.

Pain, sharp and immediate, shot up to my shoulder.

He stared, a brief flash of something in his eyes – surprise? Annoyance?

Then his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He glanced at it, his expression shifting.

"Damn it, Tiffany's causing more trouble."

He looked back at me, lying there on the porch.

"We'll finish this later."

He turned and walked back to his car, already on the phone, his voice placating Tiffany.

He didn't look back.

Again.