Chapter 2A House Without a Place for Me

Dad turned away quickly, calling everyone to check out the new kitchen, those words evaporating like drops of water on hot stone, swallowed up by the bustle of laughter and activity.

I stood there, feeling like every light in the house was shining everywhere but on me.

Dinner was set up in the new dining room. The long table was loaded with food, and everyone gathered around, raising glasses.

Dad stood up, grinning ear to ear.

"Alright, everyone—tonight we celebrate. And I figured I'd go ahead and assign the rooms while we're all here."

My heart stopped.

"Master bedroom—me and Karen, obviously."

"East wing, the biggest guest room—that's for Aaron. He's getting married soon, so that'll be his and Jessica's."

Jessica immediately turned red, shaking her head. "Mr. Phillips, that's way too much—we don't need—"

Mom cut her off with a laugh. "Nonsense! You're getting the best!"

Dad continued. "West wing—Garrett and Vanessa, that one's yours."

Vanessa practically glowed. She reached over and piled food onto Dad's plate, shooting me a quick, triumphant smirk over her shoulder.

"And Maria, you've been with us forever. You're part of this family. The guest suite on the second floor is yours. It's got great morning light—perfect for those plants you love."

My hands were shaking so hard I had to grip the edge of the table to keep them still.

From beginning to end, he didn't mention me once.

I was invisible. A ghost at my own family's table.

Who this house really belongs to.

He said "you'll understand in time."

But I'd waited, and nothing came.

My chest felt like it was being crushed under a thousand pounds.

I stood up, grabbing my coat from the back of the chair.

"Dad, Mom—I've got an early meeting tomorrow. I should head out."

My voice came out flat. Dead. I was almost impressed with myself.

Dad opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then stopped.

Mom gripped her napkin, knuckles white. "Sandra... stay a little longer?"

It was the first time I could remember her asking me to stay.

But her voice was too soft, like she was afraid of disturbing someone. And Dad didn't follow up.

Garrett set his glass down hard, scraping his chair back with a loud screech. "Sandra, you—"

"Let her go."

Dad finally spoke. His voice was calm, almost amused. "Your sister's a busy woman. Don't hold her up."

Garrett looked at me, lips moving, but he sat back down.

I grabbed my suitcase—the one I'd brought thinking maybe, just maybe, I'd stay the night—and walked out of that glowing, perfect house.

I paused at the end of the driveway and looked back.

Through the big bay windows, I could see them—laughing, talking, toasting.

That was home.

And I wasn't part of it.