Chapter 2 SENT AWAY

"You're wasting your life, Annabelle," James shouted, his brow knitted in fury.

Her father didn't shout often, but when he did, it was so loud that the sound could slice through steel.

She stood before him in his study, like a guilty child who was caught stealing, her fingers curled together around her sketchbook. "It's not a waste," she said quietly. "It's what I'm talented at. It is what I love."

James Bennett slammed the paper he was reading down on the table and rose. "Love doesn't put food on the table, Anna. Love doesn't pay bills or secure your future. You were supposed to go to law school. You were supposed to follow my footsteps."

"But I'm not you." She stared in defiance.

"Yes, but you should have done better than this." He pointed at one of the sketches she'd shown him.

"You mean I can't follow my own path?" she asked, blinking hard.

"You deceived me, Annabelle," he turned to look out the window of his study. "For four years, you made me believe you were studying law while all you did was doodle."

Tears had filled her eyes now. "I just wanted to do what I love, and I knew you'll never allow that." A tear streaked down her left eye, and she rubbed it away quickly, sniffling.

"No, you knew following your path was an unreasonable fantasy, that's why you chose to deceive me."

"I tried." The words came out louder than she intended. "But I just couldn't, law wasn't for me."

"Don't." James's voice was cold. "Don't you dare try to justify throwing away your future for childish doodles." He looked straight into her eyes, and she knew from experience that that look meant whatever he was going to say next would not be pleasant.

"Since you've decided to starve, you can't remain under my roof. Pack your things and leave my house."

The words hit her like invisible missiles, and she took a few steps backwards. Realizing that he meant it, Anna's hand flew to her mouth as she stared at him, "Dad, you're serious."

"Of course, you're twenty-seven. And you have a degree in... what you love. So you can live how you want."

She knew there was no point arguing, her father had made his choice. And she knew better than anyone else that James Bennett's decisions were always final and irrevocable. She left him and dashed into her room.

Anna retrieved her box and started stuffing everything in the vision of her eyes into it. Her art supplies first, her clothes, and then pictures of memories she had in that house. A soft knock before the knob turned and her mother entered. Elizabeth had tried to intervene with pleading eyes, but James didn't budge.

She sat beside her on the bed and held Anna's right hand in both of her own. "Do you really have to do this? Why not go back to study what he wants now that you've satisfied yourself?" She drew closer and hugged her. "I don't want to lose my only child. Please Anna, just do what he wants."

"I've always done what he wants, Mom. I wanted him to compromise just this once, but he won't, and I can't keep it up any longer."

Elizabeth drew back and cleaned the tears on Anna's face, "Promise me you'll keep in touch. I'll come visit you wherever you are."

"I'll be fine," she told her mother, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Don't worry about me." Elizabeth hugged her again and left hurriedly before her own tears could fall.

By sunset, Anna was dragging two suitcases and a box of sketchpads into the backseat of her dusty Honda Civic. It was a gift she received from James on her eighteenth birthday, and she's been using it since then. She was grateful he didn't ask her to leave everything he had given her behind.

She sat in her car for a long moment, staring at the house where she'd grown up, the ivy-covered walls, and the well-manicured lawn. She could perceive the scent of her mother's roses in the evening air, and she saw Elizabeth Bennett watching from an upstairs window, tears streaming down her face. She waved faintly, and when she eventually started the engine, she didn't give as much as a backward glance. She had to survive on her own now.

* * *

The streets of Boston blurred past her windshield like a moving watercolor painting as she drove with no direction. She just needed to get away from the house that she was no longer welcome in.

When she came to herself, she drove towards the low-end areas, knowing her savings account would not amount to anything in the upscale parts of Boston. She finally parked outside a narrow brownstone in Somerville when she saw a hand-lettered sign in the window that advertised "Studio Apt. available."

The landlord, a fat man named Bruce, wore a brown pullover. (Although Anna doubted that was the original color of the pullover.) The smell of cigarettes and alcohol oozed from him as he led her up the creaking stairs to a door and handed her the keys. The keys jingled in her hand as she opened the door to a small one-bedroom with wooden floors, pale yellow walls, and a kitchen so small she wouldn't be able to turn around in it if she's as fat as him. It smelled faintly of dust and old paint, but the light was good for artwork, and the rent would not empty her account.

"I'll take it," she said before she could change her mind.

Bruce grunted in response and dictated his account number for her. He waited until he received a deposit notification on his phone before going back down the stairs.

That night, Anna lay on the thin mattress and stared at the water stain on the ceiling that looked vaguely like a butterfly, or maybe a broken wing. She could hear the sirens, shouting, and rumble of the T train in the distance through the open window and thin walls. It was so different from the peace and quiet of Beacon Hill. That's the first thing she will have to get used to.

She never felt so alone in her life, but she didn't cry. All she had on her mind was survival.

* * *

A knock on the door woke her up the following morning. She dragged herself to the door to see who had interrupted her sleep. The bed was so uncomfortable that her body ached. She immediately longed for her princess bed back in Beacon Hill. Not even the bed she used as a student was this terrible. The door opened to a petite redhead with brown eyes and a wide smile pasted on her face.

"Hi," she waved hesitantly. "I heard someone move in last night, so I thought I should check on my new neighbor." She peered in and saw Anna's box beside the wall. "Do you need help unpacking? Today's my off, I can help you clean as well."

Annabelle managed a smile. "I'm sure I can manage, thanks for offering." She closed the door gently in her face.

Annabelle pulled her hair into a bun and made a cup of instant coffee. She placed her sketchpad on the small table by the window and opened a new page. She needed to start working immediately because rent had eaten a big chunk of her savings. What she had left would be enough for maybe one month of groceries if she spent it carefully. She had to land a contract with a publishing house, fast.

Her pencil moved across the paper, skillfully creating a trace of blood vessels around a human kidney. Her artistic passion was not in medical illustration, but she believed it would feed her while she worked on becoming an independent artist. She just had to build a portfolio and find a few clients.

By mid-afternoon, she had submitted some samples to a publisher, responded to three client requests, and cleaned most of the kitchen.

She was rinsing the coffee mug when her phone rang from the room. She didn't recognize the number but picked it up anyway, placing the phone between her ears and shoulders while she continued rinsing.

"Is this Annabelle Bennett?" The voice sounded official, and she hoped for a moment that it was good news from one of the publishing companies she'd submitted to in the past. She held her breath.

"Yes."

"This is Officer Martinez from the Boston Police Department. There's been an accident."

The mug slipped from her hands, sending pieces of broken ceramic across the clean floor.

"A truck ran the red light and collided with your parents's car. You need to come to Massachusetts General Hospital immediately."

"Are they..." She couldn't finish the question, couldn't voice the fear that was clawing its way up her throat.

"I can't disclose more on the phone, Ma'am, you need to come down here as soon as possible."

She grabbed her keys and bag with trembling hands, rushed out of the apartment, and got into her car. But her hands were shaking so badly that she couldn't get the key into the ignition. The metal kept clanging as she tried, and she had to give up.

She got out and ran to the curb, waving down a taxi frantically.

"Massachusetts General," she gasped out the words while throwing herself into the back seat. "Please hurry."

She pressed her palms against her knees to stop them from shaking and tried to pray, though she wasn't sure she remembered how.

Please, she thought, in a desperate attempt at prayer. Please Lord, please help them. Keep them for me.

The hospital appeared ahead, the lights at the entrance seemed too bright for the darkness that was gathering around her life. She got out and was speeding along when the driver honked, and she remembered she had not paid his fare. She ran back and dropped a twenty on the passenger seat before turning toward the doors, heart beating against her ribs.

Officer Martinez was waiting for her inside, a stern man with an unreadable expression. The way he approached her, slowly and gently, like she was a fragile ornament that might break, confirmed what she feared before he even opened his mouth.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, and at that moment, Annabelle's perfect world began to crumble.