Tracy's POV
The morning light crept through the thin curtains of Mrs. Callahan's spare room, soft but persistent, like it was determined to remind me that the world hadn't stopped just because mine had. I lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the neighborhood outside. Somewhere a child was laughing. Somewhere else, a dog barked, followed by the sound of a car door slamming.
Life went on. For everyone else, at least.
My chest felt heavy, like a rock had settled there. Every thought, every memory made it worse. My mother's words still echoed in my head— the way she spat the truth at me like poison. You are not our daughter. You were just a stand-in.
Even though I had known, deep down, that I was different, hearing her say it broke something inside me. It wasn't just the rejection— it was the fact that every kindness, every smile from her over the years now felt like a lie. A performance. A mask she wore until she no longer needed me.
When I finally dragged myself out of bed, Mrs. Callahan was already in the kitchen, humming softly as she stirred something on the stove. The smell of frying eggs and toasted bread filled the small house. It was so simple, yet it almost made me cry.
"You are up." she said warmly when she saw me, wiping her hands on a towel. "Come, sit. You need to eat something."
I forced a small smile and sat at the wooden table. It was scratched in places, the varnish worn thin, but it felt more genuine than the polished dining tables I had grown up with. Mrs. Callahan placed a plate in front of me— two eggs, toast, and a slice of tomato.
"Thank you." I whispered, picking up the fork.
The first bite was almost painful. The taste was so ordinary, yet so full of comfort that it brought back memories I couldn't control— my real mother, the faint smile she wore when cooking, the sound of her humming in the kitchen, the warmth that came with it. Before I knew it, tears blurred my vision, and I quickly set the fork down, covering my mouth.
Mrs. Callahan pretended not to notice, giving me the dignity of silence, though I knew she saw.
When I finally finished, she touched my shoulder gently. "You can not stay locked in here forever, sweetheart. This city isn't as cruel as the one you left. Maybe today, you try stepping outside, hm? Even just a walk."
I hesitated, fear crawling up my spine. Outside? What if someone recognized me? What if the rumors had spread this far? What if people pointed and whispered, the way they used to at home?
But then I remembered what my mother had said— her warning, her threat. Don't ever show your face again.
I had nowhere to go back to. This was it. Fairview was not just another city— it was my chance at starting over. If I wanted to survive, I had to at least try.
"Alright." I said finally, though my voice shook.
Mrs. Callahan smiled softly, as if she knew how big a step that was for me. "That's my girl. The fresh air might do you good."
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Stepping out the front door felt like stepping onto a stage I was not prepared for. The street was busy but not overwhelming— children on bicycles, a few women chatting by a corner shop, men unloading crates from a delivery truck. None of them looked at me twice. No one whispered. No one knew who I was.
I pulled Mrs. Callahan's nephew's hoodie tighter around me, the sleeves long enough to cover half my hands, and walked slowly down the street. My heart raced at every sound, every stranger who passed me, but with each step, I realized something.
Here, I was invisible.
Not the kind of invisibility that came from being silenced or erased by my family, but the kind that gave me freedom. These people didn't know my name. They didn't know the scandal. They didn't care.
For the first time in what felt like forever, I breathed without the weight of eyes on me.
Still, the emptiness did not vanish. It lingered, sharp and bitter. I had lost everything in one night— my family, my wealth, my identity. Even my money, the account I had counted on, was gone. Completely drained, like I had never earned a single cent. They had stripped me clean.
And yet… as I walked past a bakery, the warm smell of fresh bread reaching out to me, something flickered inside. A thought. A fragile, trembling thought.
Maybe I could start over. Maybe I did not need the Alcott name, the company, or even the money. Maybe here, in this ordinary place, I could carve out something small but real. Something that belonged to me alone.
The thought scared me. But it also gave me the tiniest spark of strength.
By the time I returned to Mrs. Callahan's house, my legs ached, but my chest felt a little lighter. She was waiting by the doorway, smiling like she'd been watching for me.
"How was it?" she asked.
I thought for a moment, then gave her the most honest answer I had.
"It felt… strange. But good. Like I could breathe again."
She reached out and squeezed my hand. "That is all you need to do, Tracy. One breath at a time. One step at a time."
And for the first time since everything had fallen apart, I almost believed her.