Tracy's POV
The dresses Mrs. Callahan had bought me hung neatly on the back of the door. They weren't anything grand— just two simple dresses in soft, plain colors— but to me, they looked like a new beginning.
I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the skirt of the navy- blue one with trembling hands. It fit well enough, though the sleeves were a little loose. Still, it looked neat, professional— like someone who belonged in an office. Like someone who could be taken seriously.
And yet, when I looked at my reflection, I hardly recognized the woman staring back. Her eyes were still puffy from nights of crying. Her shoulders slumped under the invisible weight of shame. The room behind her was small, with peeling paint and mismatched furniture, but it felt more like home than the mansion I had once lived in.
I swallowed hard. What if they recognize me? What if they've read the headlines, seen the lies? What if they laugh?
Fear wrapped itself around me, tightening its grip until I had to close my eyes and take deep breaths just to steady myself.
I told myself I had to try. If I did not, I'd stay here forever, hiding behind Mrs. Callahan's kindness, living in borrowed clothes and borrowed time. No one was coming to save me. I had to save myself.
Still, as I picked up my bag and turned toward the door, my hand froze over my phone- the one Mrs Callahan gave me to use for the meantime.
My sister.
Part of me wanted to hear her voice, to cling to the hope that at least she still cared. That even if my mother had cast me aside like dirt, my sister would be different. We had shared a childhood, secrets, silly fights and laughter. Surely, blood had to count for something.
With trembling fingers, I dialed her number. The ringing felt like a lifetime, and I almost hung up before she answered.
Her voice came sharp, impatient. " Who is this?"
A pause. " Tracy "
"Why are you calling me?" I could feel her anger through the phone.
For a second, I couldn't breathe. "It's me," I whispered. "It's Tracy."
"I know who it is," she snapped. "And you shouldn't be calling me at all."
My throat closed. "I just… I just needed to hear you. I thought maybe… maybe you still cared. Everyone else has turned their back on me, but you are my sister. Aren't you?"
She laughed then, but it was not warm or familiar. It was bitter. Ugly. "Sister? Tracy, I have never seen you as my sister. Not once."
Her words cut through me sharper than any knife. "What?" I whispered, my voice cracking.
"Do you know what it was like," she continued, her tone full of years of resentment, "growing up with you in the house? You, the perfect one. You, the one everyone praised. You weren't even real blood, and yet they still looked at you like you were more than me."
Tears blurred my vision. "That is not true. I never—"
"Don't lie." she spat. "You think I didn't notice? Do you know why I hated you most? Because even him— the man who was supposed to marry me— chose you. His family wanted you, not me. They said you were more capable, more graceful, more… everything."
Her words sank in, heavy and suffocating. "You mean… you wanted him before me?"
"Yes." she said coldly. "I liked him first. But his family didn't want me. They wanted you. You, the adopted one. Do you know how that felt? To be thrown aside for someone who was not even supposed to be in the family?"
I pressed a hand to my chest, as if I could hold my heart together before it shattered completely.
"So Mother helped me," she went on, her voice turning sharper. "She made it so you'd disappear. Do you understand now? You will never come back. And if you do…" Her voice dropped, low and venomous. "If you do, you will end up dead. Because neither of us will let you ruin everything again."
The line went dead.
I stood there in silence, the phone still pressed to my ear, my whole body shaking. It wasn't just my mother. It was her too. My own sister. The one person I thought might stand by me had been against me all along.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, gasping as tears rolled hot down my cheeks. My chest hurt so badly I thought I might not breathe again.
Not a daughter. Not a sister. Not even wanted by the man who had been promised to me.
I was nothing. Less than nothing.
And yet, somewhere beneath the storm of pain, a new voice whispered.
Then make yourself something. Make yourself someone.
I wiped my tears with trembling hands, forcing myself to stand. My knees felt weak, but I reached for my bag anyway. My heart was broken, but I refused to let it bury me. Not this time.
When I walked into the kitchen, Mrs. Callahan was there, setting down plates for lunch. She looked up and froze when she saw my face. "Tracy… what happened?"
I shook my head quickly, not trusting myself to speak. "Nothing. I just… I need to go. I have an interview to get to."
Her eyes softened, but she didn't press. She only touched my arm gently. "Go, sweetheart. And remember— whatever anyone has said to you, you are worth more than they will ever admit. Do not let them take that from you."
I swallowed hard and nodded, clutching her words like a lifeline as I stepped out the door.
For the first time, I was not just walking into an interview. I was walking into a chance to prove— to them, to myself— that I was still here. That I was not gone. That I wasn't nothing.
And maybe, just maybe, Fairview was where I could begin again.