Chapter 4Lesson One: Stop Needing Me

I stood in the cold hallway, my fingers gripping the original key Grams had given me until the metal teeth dug into my palm.

"This is my property," I yelled through the door. "What right do you have to change the locks?!"

My father just laughed from the other side.

"You have my blood in your veins. Everything you own is mine by right."

My mother chimed in immediately.

"Sloane, stop being so incredibly stubborn."

"Just give the house to Lexi, and we'll let you move back into the guest room. You are the older sister. Fighting your baby sister over real estate is absolutely humiliating for everyone."

I closed my eyes, forcing down the panic rising in my chest. "Where is Biscuit?"

No one answered.

I kicked the door as hard as I could.

"Where is my dog?!"

My mother let out an annoyed sigh.

"That useless mutt? Your father threw him downstairs hours ago."

I spun around and sprinted down the stairwell.

I checked the landscaping bushes by the lobby. I ran down the ramp into the underground parking garage.

I screamed Biscuit's name until my throat was raw.

Nothing.

Finally, I ran to the far edge of the complex, where the massive industrial dumpsters were kept.

I found him.

He had been violently stuffed into a soggy cardboard box next to a pile of rotting garbage. His beautiful golden fur was matted into dark, filthy clumps. Fresh blood was caked around his muzzle.

His broken hind leg was twisted at a grotesque, unnatural angle. The only sign he was even alive was the incredibly shallow rise and fall of his chest.

I dropped to my knees in the puddles of filthy rainwater. When I reached out to touch him, my hands were shaking so violently I was terrified of hurting him worse.

"Biscuit..."

He didn't open his eyes. Only the very tip of his black nose twitched faintly.

I scooped him into my arms, ignoring the blood and garbage water soaking through my clothes, and sprinted for the street.

"Don't go to sleep. Biscuit, please, stay awake."

When I finally reached the emergency vet, the technicians took one look and rushed him straight into the trauma bay.

When those double doors swung shut, my legs completely gave out. I slid down the waiting room wall and buried my face in my hands.

My phone started vibrating endlessly in my pocket.

I pulled it out. Lexi had just posted a new viral video on social media.

[My older sister cut off my food money, stole my house, and kicked our elderly parents out onto the street—all because I wanted to be independent. I guess growing up really does come with a price.]

She uploaded a carousel of photos with the video.

A selfie showing her violently sobbing with red eyes outside the hotel.

Screenshots of my mother's smear campaign in my company's Slack channel.

And a photo of my trashed living room, entirely devoid of context.

The comment section was an absolute bloodbath.

[What a psychotic control freak. The second her sister stops obeying her, she cuts off her money.]

[Kicking her own parents out onto the street? What a total sociopath.]

Even people from my graduating class were blowing up my direct messages.

[Sloane, is that video real?]

[Your sister is a freshman. You don't need to be so aggressive with her.]

Even an old college roommate, someone I used to consider a close friend, sent a single text:

[Whatever happened, she is still your flesh and blood, Sloane.]

I stared at the flashing cursor in the text box. I typed out half a sentence explaining the truth, then slowly deleted it, letter by letter.

I closed the app and didn't reply to a single person.

The doors to the trauma bay finally opened. The vet pulled down his surgical mask, his expression incredibly grim.

"It doesn't look good. We're going to have to monitor him through the night."

When I signed the authorization forms, my hands were trembling so badly my signature was completely illegible.

The receptionist handed me the invoice. Four thousand, eight hundred dollars.

My debit account had exactly two hundred bucks in it, because I had drained it paying for Lexi's tuition a week ago.

I stood in front of the billing counter, pulled out my last remaining credit card, and handed it over.

When the transaction approved, a dark, hollow laugh escaped my chest.

I left the clinic and walked straight to my apartment complex's property management office.

The young girl working the front desk took one look at me and her entire demeanor shifted. She quickly placed her phone face down on the desk.

The screen had been paused on Lexi's crying video.

"I need you to pull the security footage for my floor," I demanded.

Her voice was instantly dripping with icy judgment.

"We do not release security footage to anyone who isn't a verified property owner."

I pulled up a high-res photo of the deed on my phone and shoved it in her face.

"I am the owner."

She barely glanced at it before pushing my phone away.

"You still have to file a formal request through the proper channels."

The security guard lingering by the water cooler decided to chime in.

"Look, lady, just drop it. Your parents raised you. So what if they crash at your place for a few days?"

"Calling the cops and demanding security tapes? Do you know how psychotic that makes you look?"

I stared at the two of them. The sheer ignorance was suffocating. I couldn't even force words past my teeth.

I left the office and drove straight to the county clerk's public records division.

The clerk handed me a freshly stamped, certified copy of the deed and the notarized will.

Grams' signature was a little shaky, but it was the ultimate shield she had forged just for me.

I sat on a bench in the government building lobby for a very long time, clutching the paperwork to my chest.

My phone buzzed. A new friend request from Lexi.

[Transfer the house, and I'll delete the videos.]

I tucked the certified documents into my bag and drove back to my complex.

Looking up from the street, I could see the lights blazing in my living room windows. My parents were probably sitting on my couch, watching my television, completely unbothered.

I stood in the freezing wind, pulled out my phone, and dialed 911.

"Hello? I need to report a home invasion."