Chapter 2

“Danny!” My mom yelled and ran out of the house, engulfing me in a bear hug. I nearly fell from the impact. I laughed as she smothered my face with kisses, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her perfume filled my nose, instantly relaxing me. I sighed in contentment, certain my mother would never betray me or give up on me. It was the first time I’d smiled in days, feeling safe in her arms. “You’ve grown so much! I missed you!”

“Mom, you saw me two weeks ago.” I chuckled and sighed. “I missed you too,” I said seriously. My dad cleared his throat, and I scowled. What did he want now? I turned and glared at him, but he just smiled at me, then at my mother.

“Ella, you look great as always,” my father greeted. It was true—my mother was stunning. At forty-two, she looked like she was in her early thirties. Her long, straight, dark brown hair was in a tight ponytail, and her black dress hugged her figure perfectly. High cheekbones complemented her black eyes, and red lipstick gave her a professional yet lovely look. I resembled her, except my hair curled slightly at the ends and my eyes were green, like my father’s. Good looks ran in our family—most were models.

“Thank you, George. I’ve got a meeting in an hour,” she groaned, checking her watch. “I hate leaving Danny since she just arrived, but duty calls.” She looked at me apologetically. “I’m sorry. I hoped to be free today. It’s at the house, so I hope you don’t mind.” I glanced at her mansion—beautiful, of course. She was wealthy but humble. Two stories, twelve bedrooms, ten bathrooms, a huge kitchen, dining room, living area, workout space, her workshop, a basement, an attic, and a large meeting room.

I shook my head and smiled. “Mom, it’s your house. Stop freaking out. I understand.” She smiled sweetly. I saw Feli, one of her maids, step outside, and I ran to hug her. She was like an aunt—short, stubby, with curly gray hair and a bright smile. “Aunt Feli, how you doing?”

“Oh, I’m fine. No need to worry about me, sweetheart. How ya’ doing?” She smiled, smoothing her hair. “I made your favorite southern pot pie to cheer you up.”

“I’m alright. Could be better. Oh, I can’t wait to eat that.” My mouth watered at the thought. She chuckled.

“Feli, good to see you again!” my dad said enthusiastically, interrupting us. He gave me a serious look. “Danny, can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I shrugged. “Mom, I’ll see you inside.” My mother looked concerned, twiddling her thumbs and biting her lip—a habit when she was deep in thought or nervous. I stalked toward the entrance, Feli following, rubbing my back soothingly.

“Daniella Jean Wrode Saunders,” I froze when he used my full name. My back stayed to him, and I tensed. Feli stepped away, knowing my temper. “I expected you to understand. You’re not a child anymore, Daniella.” His voice was angry, impatient, which fueled my own anger.

“I do understand. You love Sandra more than me.” I spat and stormed inside without looking back. Tears welled up again. How much could one girl cry? At seventeen, I shouldn’t face this. I wished for normalcy—married parents, a doting dad, a loyal boyfriend. But I was Daniella Saunders, far from normal.

Half an hour later, my dad left. He tried to say goodbye, but I ignored him. My mom left me with Ben & Jerry’s strawberry ice cream before her meeting. I wished Darren, my brother, were here. He’d comfort me, tell Dad to back off, protect me, tickle me until I smiled.

Darren, two years older, was at college in Washington, studying to be a mechanic. Dad wanted him to be a baseball star, but Darren chose his own path, inspiring me to stand up to Dad. His voice echoed: “Hold your head up high and smile. Stand tall, stay strong. You’re strong because I’m your brother.” We’d laugh as he tickled me breathless.

It was dark, stars appearing. From my huge bedroom, I gazed at the backyard. The nearby forest creeped me out—like a horror movie setting, fog swirling mysteriously. I shivered, imagining entering it. Then, something black darted through the trees. What was that? Panic set in. A dog? Too big. A bear? Too fast, my mind argued. Goosebumps rose, my heart raced. I closed my eyes, shook my head, and looked again. Nothing—just the eerie forest. Maybe I was tired, hallucinating.

A knock woke me from my thoughts. “Come in,” I called, still staring outside. My mom’s head peeked in, her face worried. She’d changed into a loose white shirt, gray sweats, hair in a messy bun. “Honey, you okay?”

“Yeah, just mad at Dad,” I sighed.

“You have every right. I can’t believe he married that skank,” she spat, shivering in disgust. “Choosing her over his daughter.”

She ranted about their divorce—his selfishness, his need for control. I started unpacking, and she helped silently. I appreciated the quiet; I was done talking about Dad.

Halfway through, my right shoulder ached. I winced, rolling it, rubbing it uselessly. Mom noticed, worried. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing big. Been happening for a week,” I said, wincing again. “Probably tiredness.”

“I think your sh—” She stopped, looking scared, then blank.

“Huh?” That snapped her out of it. “Mom, you alright?”

“Yeah. Probably stress. You’ve been through a lot,” she said nervously. I eyed her suspiciously. “Honey, I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

“Mom, it’s not your fault. I’m with you now, and that’s all I want.” I hugged her as she cried.

“I feel like a horrible parent. My daughter’s unhappy. What’s wrong with me?” She wiped her tears. I felt a pang—she blamed herself. “Let me make it up. Spa day Saturday.”

“It’s not your fault. I’d love to,” I sighed, hugging her again. She brightened, and I smiled, missing these moments—shopping, relaxing, talking.

“That’ll ease your shoulder,” she winked. “You look like crap and stink. Take a bath.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom. Love you too,” I said sarcastically. “What did Dad say?”

“Nothing. He’s a chicken,” she rolled her eyes. “I did the talking—said you need space, and some violent things you don’t need to hear.” She grinned proudly—she didn’t tolerate anyone messing with her kids. “How’s you and Chase?”

I broke down, tears unstoppable, heart aching. Mom held my hand, looking sympathetic, probably thinking I just missed him. I did, and hated myself for it. “He cheated on me,” I sobbed. “With Ali.”

“What!” she snapped, eyes narrowing murderously. “I swear, when I see them—”

“Forget it, Mom. They’re nothing now. I’m here to start fresh,” I said, faking a smile. “I’ll shower since I stink.” She laughed, and I smiled—her happiness lifted me. “Got Epsom salt? My shoulder hurts.”

“In your bathroom drawer.”

“Thanks. Good night, Mom. Love you. Thanks for everything.”

“Good night, Danny. No problem, sweetheart,” she said softly. “School starts in two days.”

Great, I thought. Torture awaits.