"We need a DNA test done!" Dad's furious voice echoes through the house as he slams the door so hard the walls seem to vibrate with his anger.
I flinch slightly from where I'm seated, my fingers tightening around the edge of my notebook.
"We are definitely taking the Bonfires to court."
Mom's voice is quieter, exhausted, as if the weight of the situation has drained the last bit of energy from her.
I want to ask, desperately,
what happened, what set them off this time. But the tension crackling in the air like an impending storm tells me it's a terrible idea.
Instead, I press my lips together and carefully close my books, pushing them aside. I had been going over what Dom taught me earlier, but now, focus is impossible.
Then Mom turns, her weary eyes landing on me. "You're starting therapy."
I freeze.
The words send a shiver down my spine, though the room isn't cold. I had read about therapy, searched the internet late at night, wondering what it would feel like to sit across from a stranger and spill out your deepest thoughts.
I don't like the idea. At all.
"I don't think I want to go sit with someone I don't know and talk about my feelings." My voice is soft, careful, but firm.
Dad's sharp gaze cuts through me like a blade, brimming with irritation. I know that look too well.
"We didn't ask for your permission. It's an order," he snaps before turning on his heel and storming off to his room.
The heavy thud of his door slamming shut sends another tremor through the house.
I swallow hard.
Mom sighs, rubbing her temples before walking over and sitting across from me.
Her exhaustion is etched into the fine lines on her face, the ones that have deepened over the past few months.
"Helen, your dad didn't mean that," Mom says, her voice softer now, as if willing me to believe her.
I stare at her, my heart pounding in my chest, my thoughts a tangled mess.
"So do I deserve all of this too?"
My words come out sharp, edged with frustration I didn't even know I was holding inside.
Mom exhales, slow and heavy.
"You know we've had a lot on our plate."
I let out a bitter laugh. "And I'm the only one you all take it out on."
The second the words leave my mouth, my throat tightens, my eyes burning with unshed tears.
But I refuse to cry. Not now. Not in front of her.
She watches me, her expression unreadable, but I can see it,
the weight pressing down on her, the exhaustion clinging to her like a second skin.
"Helen, you should understand."
I shake my head, voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't want to." My fingers dig into my palms.
"I'm tired. The son you're fighting for doesn't even care."
Silence.
Mom straightens immediately, her posture shifting from exhausted to alert, her expression unreadable.
"Have you been speaking to him?"
I meet her gaze head-on, unflinching. "He's my boyfriend. What do you mean,
'have I been speaking to him'?"
A flicker of something, concern, sadness, regret, crosses her face before she steadies herself.
"You shouldn't anymore, Helen."
There's a softness to her tone, a hint of sympathy, but it does nothing to soothe the storm rising within me.
"How do you expect me to stop talking to someone I have feelings for?"
My voice rises, disbelief fueling my anger.
Mom doesn't waver.
"You just have to, Helen." The finality in her tone settles between us like an immovable wall.
I open my mouth, ready to argue, to scream, to say something that will shake her resolve, but nothing comes out. The words remain stuck in my throat.
Then she adds,
"And you'll be getting a new driver. He'll be taking you to your therapy sessions."
She stands up, her decision made, leaving me sitting there in stunned silence.
"A new driver?" I repeat, but she doesn't respond.
The last time I had a driver was years ago.
My chest tightens. This isn't about therapy. This is about Dan. They don't trust me.
I clench my jaw, my hands trembling as I grab my books and storm off to my room, slamming the door behind me.
I throw my books onto the bed and collapse beside them, my mind spinning.
Then, through the thin walls, I hear murmurs. I shuffle closer, pressing my ear against the wall.
"They took him, and he was right in front of us. And we didn't even know. We didn't even recognize our own son."
Mom's voice breaks, and I hear a muffled sob.
"How could we have known?
Don't blame yourself, love." Dad's voice is softer now, trying to console her.
There's a brief silence, then the sound of Mom blowing her nose. She must have been crying hard.
"And they had the audacity to say the camera footage wasn't enough proof."
Dad's voice is sharp, cutting through the quiet.
"How could they do that to us?"
Mom asks again, her voice laced with heartbreak.
Dad doesn't answer.
"Why did Mrs. May let him wander off like that?" Mom's voice shakes.
I freeze.
Mrs. May?
I press my ear harder against the wall, my heart racing.
Dad speaks again, his voice lower now. "We've gone over this. He was a child. Children stray."
Mom sniffles again, murmuring something too low for me to hear.
I push against the wall harder, but their voices fade.
I exhale sharply, falling back onto the bed. Mrs. May knows more than she lets on. She acts clueless, but clearly, she isn't.
Then Dad speaks again, his voice careful, measured.
"I have just received a message from our lawyer confirming that our case has been officially accepted. The Bonfires have been summoned, and the court proceedings are scheduled for next week."
A chill runs down my spine.
Then Mom says something that makes my blood run cold.
"Helen is still seeing him."
I sit up, my breath caught in my throat.
Before I can even process it, Dad's voice erupts, loud and furious.
"What?! Do you mean they are still dating?"
"I guess so," Mom says softly.
Dad sighs, the sound heavy.
"I never liked him for her."
I blink, thrown by his words. What does he mean by that?
Then Mom speaks again, her voice careful. "I was thinking we could use Helen to get him closer to us."
Dad goes silent.
Then he says, "I don't think we should do that, She's been through enough and At least let's get the DNA test done first."
Mom's voice sharpens.
"For how long do we wait? Do we keep waiting? He's been right in front of us, and we just didn't see it. We didn't see him."
She's about to break down again, I can hear it in her shaking voice.
Dad tries to calm her. "Honey—"
"I'm not asking for permission. I'm telling you," Mom cuts him off, her voice like steel. "You want to wait? Fine. But I won't."
Then silence.
I sit there, my hands clenched into fists, my heart hammering in my chest.
What have I gotten myself into?
The thought echoes in my mind, loud and unrelenting.
I had never seen or heard Mom crash out like this before.
She was always composed, always the calm one, the voice of reason when Dad's temper flared.
But tonight, her desperation, her anger, her determination cut through the walls like a blade.
I press my ear harder against the cold surface, barely breathing as their conversation continues.
"Do you think Dave will be able to get her to open up?" Dad asks, his voice noticeably calmer now.
I frown. Who's Dave?
The name is unfamiliar. I had never heard it before.
I search my memory, but nothing comes up. Another secret?
Another person making decisions for me?
"I trust him," Mom replies with certainty.
"A friend recommended her."
My chest tightens.
A friend?
"Helen might be adamant about seeing Dave," Mom continues. "That's why I hired the driver."
I stiffen.
She hired the driver?
For some reason, I had assumed Dad was the one behind that.
But now, knowing it was Mom's decision, it makes the situation feel even more... Calculated. Planned.
Dad hums in approval.
"That's a good move. It's all in her favor."
My favor? Nothing about this feels like it's in my favor.
I clench my fists, frustration curling through me.
They talk about me like I'm a project, something that needs fixing. Like I'm broken.
Then Mom's tone shifts, growing softer. "I feel so bad for Helen. We put her in this mess."
A bitter chuckle threatens to rise in my throat.
Now they feel bad? Now? After controlling every aspect of my life?
Dad doesn't hesitate.
"And that's why we're putting the right measures in place for her."
Right measures. Therapy. A new driver.
A controlled environment.
Not a single choice of mine in sight.
Mom exhales before speaking again.
"I also got a call from Mrs Edwina. She said Helen's tutor has been reporting her test and assignment results to her."
I tense.
Mom continues, oblivious to my growing unease.
"She says Helen has been doing so well."
There's a pause.
Then Dad, sounding genuinely surprised, says, "Really?"
Mom hums in confirmation.
"Yeah. We've been so hard on her… she deserves some grace."
I blink, momentarily stunned. Grace?
Mom—my adopted mother—was defending me?
There's a moment of silence between them before Dad sighs.
"You're right."
Another pause. Then Dad adds something that sends another jolt through me.
"What do you think about the tutor being our son's cousin?"
I nearly gasp out loud.
I press against the wall, my heart racing, waiting for Mom's response.
She takes a moment before answering,
"We wait for now. He hasn't done anything suspicious. And if that's who Helen is comfortable with, let's give her that."
Dad hums in agreement. "Yeah."
Then—silence.
I don't realize how tense I am until my body collapses against the bed, exhaustion seeping into my bones.
Too much.
Too much information.
My head pounds, my mind running wild, trying to process everything I just overheard.
Mom hired the driver.
They think I need therapy.
And Dan,
My breath catches as a new thought enters my mind.
The memory slams into me—the way his fingers brushed against mine, the way our faces were inches apart, the way I almost kissed my brother.
I shake my head, banishing the image before it fully forms.
I can't think about that right now.
But I am going to see him.
After my suspension ends.
And I need to be in that courtroom.
I need to see how all of this unfolds.
One thing is certain, I can't do this alone.
I need Selena.
I have to make up with her.
And fast.