Chapter 3

The storm arrived on their eighteenth birthday.

It was a day that should have been a celebration, but in the Clark household, it was just another reminder of their parents' absence. There was no party, no cake, no happy birthday song. Just a single, sterile envelope on the marble kitchen island.

Inside were two credit cards with absurdly high limits and a typed note from an assistant: "Happy Birthday. Use this for whatever you want. - F & M."

Father and Mother. Not even "Dad" and "Mom."

I watched from my high chair as Nicole stared at the note, her face a blank mask. Then she turned and walked out of the room without a word. A moment later, I heard her bedroom door slam shut.

Ethan crumpled the note in his fist and threw it in the trash. He walked to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water, and then just stood there, staring at nothing. The bad-boy facade was gone. He just looked like a sad, lonely kid. He left the kitchen and went to his own room, the silence of the mansion pressing in on all of us.

This was it. This was the kind of moment the original script fed on. This was the vulnerability that Jennifer and Andrew would have exploited, whispering poison into their ears, telling them they were the only ones who understood.

I couldn't let that happen.

I took a deep breath and began to cry.

It wasn't a small whimper. It was a full-blown, inconsolable, end-of-the-world scream. I cried until my face was blotchy and my lungs ached. I cried with the force of all their unspoken pain.

For a few minutes, nothing happened. The silence from their rooms was a stubborn wall. I cried harder.

Finally, I heard footsteps. Ethan appeared in the kitchen doorway, his expression irritated. "What now?"

I just kept wailing, reaching my arms out to him.

Then Nicole came downstairs, her eyes red and swollen. "Can't you make her stop?"

"I'm trying!" Ethan snapped.

They stood there, on opposite sides of the kitchen, the gulf between them as wide as ever. My crying was the only sound, a desperate siren in the emotional wreckage of their birthday.

Ethan sighed and came over, picking me up. I quieted for a moment, sniffling against his shoulder. But it wasn't enough. They were still separate, locked in their own misery.

I needed to bring them together.

I looked over Ethan's shoulder at Nicole. I pointed a chubby finger at her and made a grabby motion.

"What does she want?" Nicole asked, her voice thick with tears.

"I don't know, you?" Ethan said, sounding surprised.

He reluctantly walked over to his sister. Now they were standing side-by-side, united by the strange demands of a baby.

I had them. I had their full attention.

I stopped crying completely. I looked from Ethan's face to Nicole's, and then I did something I'd been practicing in my head. I opened my mouth and babbled the one sound I knew would work.

"Hap-py," I said, my voice a clumsy, babyish imitation of the song. "Hap-py."

They both stared at me. The tension in the room didn't just break; it shattered.

A small, choked sound escaped Nicole's lips. It was a laugh, wet with tears. Then Ethan started to chuckle, a low, rusty sound he rarely used.

"Did she just...?" Nicole started, unable to finish.

"I think she did," Ethan said, a genuine, unguarded smile spreading across his face.

They were both laughing now, a shared, cathartic release. The pain of their parents' neglect was still there, but for a moment, it was overshadowed by the ridiculous, beautiful absurdity of a baby trying to sing "Happy Birthday."

Nicole reached out and touched my cheek. "Happy birthday, Ethan."

"Happy birthday, Nic," he replied, his voice soft.

They weren't looking at the credit cards or thinking about their absent parents. They were looking at each other, and at me.

Later that night, Ethan came into my room with a small, awkwardly wrapped box. He set it in my crib.

"It's a baby monitor," he said quietly. "One with a camera. So we can... you know. See if you're okay."

He thought I was asleep, but I watched him through my eyelashes. He stood there for a long moment, just looking at me.

"Thanks for the song, Maddy," he whispered, before turning and leaving the room.

The bond was solidifying. The cracks that Jennifer and Andrew were meant to exploit were slowly being filled. They thought they were saving a baby, but I was the one saving them.