Chapter 2
Dad drove past the airport like it was not there.
I watched the exit sign disappear behind us.
Beach flights.
Resort buses.
Families with matching luggage and sun hats.
All of it slid away.
My heart should have sunk.
Instead, it floated somewhere strange and uncertain.
Because the trip Cassandra had planned was never really mine.
It had been a stage.
A picture.
A lie with sunscreen.
Dad kept both hands on the wheel.
His face looked carved out of stone, but his voice, when he spoke, was careful.
“Maya, I need to make one thing clear.”
I turned toward him.
“This morning was not your fault.”
Those words hit too hard.
I looked down at my hands.
“I didn’t say it was.”
“You didn’t have to.”
In the back seat, Devin shifted.
His forehead stayed against the window.
Dad glanced at him through the mirror.
“It wasn’t yours either, Dev.”
Devin’s shoulders tightened.
He did not answer.
For ten minutes, nobody spoke.
Then Dad took an exit toward the north side of the city.
Not home.
Not the airport.
Not Aunt Lorraine’s house.
We pulled into the parking lot of a small hotel near the river.
It had brick walls, hanging flower baskets, and no memories attached to Cassandra.
Dad parked under a maple tree.
He turned off the engine.
The sudden quiet pressed against my ears.
“We’re staying here tonight,” he said. “I need time to think before I make decisions.”
I nodded.
Thinking sounded safer than going back.
Devin opened his door before Dad finished speaking.
He got out and stood beside the SUV, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, staring at the pavement.
Dad unloaded our bags.
Again, he was careful with mine.
Every small kindness made something ache inside me.
At the front desk, the woman smiled like nothing in the world had shattered.
Dad asked for two rooms.
Then he paused.
“No,” he said. “A suite. With two bedrooms.”
The woman typed.
Devin stared at a brochure rack.
I stared at Dad.
A suite meant together.
Not scattered.
Not hidden.
Not me in somebody’s guest room while the real family relaxed somewhere else.
Upstairs, the room smelled like clean sheets and lemon soap.
There was a small living room, a couch, a round table, two bedrooms, and a balcony overlooking the river.
Dad set my suitcase beside one bedroom door.
“You take this room.”
I looked at Devin.
He shrugged without looking at me.
“I’ll take the couch.”
Dad shook his head.
“You take the other room. I’ll take the couch.”
Devin finally looked up.
“No, Dad.”
“Yes.”
“But—”
“Devin.”
That was all.
Devin stopped.
Dad walked to the balcony doors and opened them.
Cool air moved through the room.
I stood in the middle of the living room, unsure what to do with my body now that nobody was telling me I was in the way.
Dad removed his phone from his pocket.
The screen lit up again.
Cassandra had called nineteen times.
There were thirty-seven texts.
He did not read them.
He called someone else.
“Marcus,” he said when the call connected. “I need your help.”
I looked at him.
Marcus was Dad’s older brother.
Uncle Marcus lived two towns over, and Cassandra hated him because he never pretended she was charming.
Dad walked onto the balcony.
His voice dropped.
I heard pieces anyway.
“Not safe to go back tonight.”
“No, not physical.”
“Emotional. Years of it, maybe.”
A pause.
Then his voice cracked slightly.
“I didn’t see enough.”
My throat tightened.
I turned away before I cried.
Devin stood near the wall.
His face had gone pale.
“He’s calling Uncle Marcus,” I said, because silence felt unbearable.
“I know.”
“Are you okay?”
He laughed once.
It sounded ugly.
“No.”
I did not know what to say.
Devin had been part of it.
Part of Cassandra’s family-without-me.
Part of the vacations where I sat on the edge of photos.
Part of the inside jokes.
Part of the birthday mornings when his gifts covered the kitchen table and mine waited in one small bag by the toaster.
But he had also followed Dad out.
He had grabbed his suitcase.
He was here.
That confused me.
He looked at me then.
His eyes were red.
“I knew.”
The room went cold.
I stared at him.
“What?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I knew you weren’t coming.”
My heart dropped so fast I felt sick.
“When?”
“Last week.”
I stepped back.
He flinched as if I had slapped him.
“Maya—”
“You knew?”
“She told me not to say anything.”
“And you didn’t.”
“I didn’t know she hadn’t told Dad.”
“You didn’t tell me either.”
He looked down.
“I know.”
My chest burned.
“You watched me pack.”
His face twisted.
“I know.”
“You watched me choose my swimsuit.”
“I know.”
“You watched me put snacks in my backpack for the plane.”
“Maya, please.”
“Please what?”
My voice shook.
“Please let you feel better?”
His eyes filled.
“No.”
Dad came back inside then.
He saw my face.
Then Devin’s.
“What happened?”
I looked at Dad.
“Devin knew.”
Dad went still.
Devin said, “Dad, I didn’t know Mom lied to you.”
“But you knew Maya was being left behind.”
Devin swallowed.
“Yes.”
Dad’s face changed in a way I had never seen.
Not rage.
Not disappointment.
Something heavier.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Devin’s voice broke.
“Because Mom said you agreed.”
“And you believed her.”
“I wanted to.”
The honesty landed hard.
Devin looked at me.
“She said you had been rude all summer. She said you didn’t want to go. She said you’d ruin it. She said she and Dad decided you’d stay with Aunt Lorraine.”
I felt dizzy.
“I never said I didn’t want to go.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew then.”
He cried finally.
A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away angrily.
“I knew something was wrong, okay? But if I said anything, she’d start on me too.”
The words hung in the room.
Start on me too.
Dad’s eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
Devin froze.
He looked toward the door like he wanted to run.
Dad stepped closer.
“Devin.”
Devin shook his head.
“Nothing.”
“No.”
Dad’s voice was low.
“No more nothing in this family.”
Devin’s mouth trembled.
“She said if I messed up this trip, she’d tell my coach about the pills.”
Dad’s face went white.
“What pills?”
Devin looked sick.
“I’m not using or anything.”
“What pills, Devin?”
He pulled his hoodie sleeves over his hands.
“Anxiety meds. From school counselor referral. I didn’t want people to know.”
Dad stared at him.
“You’re taking anxiety medication?”
“I stopped.”
“Why?”
“Because she found them.”
I could barely breathe.
Cassandra had always called Devin perfect.
Star athlete.
Good grades.
Her pride.
But here he was, shaking.
“She said anxiety would make me look weak,” he whispered. “She said colleges don’t want unstable athletes.”
Dad sat down hard on the couch.
For the first time, he looked truly lost.
Not just angry.
Lost.
As if the house he had lived in for years had suddenly revealed hidden rooms under every floor.
I stood near the table, my anger at Devin still hot, but something else moved beside it.
Recognition.
Cassandra had not only erased me.
She had trapped him too.
Differently.
More quietly.
But trapped.
Dad put his elbows on his knees and covered his face.
“I am so sorry,” he said.
Neither of us answered.
Because we were children.
Because he was our father.
Because sorry was too small and too late and still the only word that fit.
His phone buzzed again.
This time, a message preview appeared before he flipped it over.
If you don’t bring Devin back, I’ll call the police and say you kidnapped my son.
Devin saw it.
His whole body stiffened.
Dad picked up the phone.
For one second, I thought he would call Cassandra.
Instead, he called Uncle Marcus again.
“Bring a lawyer,” Dad said.
Then he looked at us.
May you like
“And food. They haven’t eaten.”
That was when I realized he was shaking too.
