The cab pulled up in front of a tidy beige house—so neat it looked like no one had ever truly lived there. The hedges were perfectly trimmed, the porch swept spotless, the pale blue curtains drawn with precision. A house with no room for mistakes.
Adeline sat still for a moment, staring at the front door as if it might swing open and jog some long-buried memory. But all she felt was a strange tightness in her chest. A warning..
She moved cautiously, Charlotte's hoodie draped over her thin frame, the fabric swallowing her like armor she wasn't sure she deserved. Beneath it, the edges of her hospital gown peeked out—wrinkled and clinical, a stark reminder of how unmoored she truly was. She looked like a stranger walking into someone else's life.
Then the voice.
"So you finally decided to show your face."
She froze.
A man stood at the end of the hallway—tall, broad, with a face that looked carved from stone. Her father. Not remembered, exactly. Just... known, with a bone-deep chill.
"Dad?" she whispered.
His expression twisted. "Don't 'Dad' me. Do you even realize what you've done? Hazel's upstairs bawling her eyes out because of you."
"I... I don't remember anything," Adeline said, voice barely above a breath. "I didn't mean—"
"Oh, don't give me that memory loss crap." He took a step closer, his voice rising. "You wrecked that car, disappeared, and now you walk back in here playing victim? As always."
"I was in a coma," she said, her hands trembling. "I didn't ask for any of this."
"You never do," he spat. "It's always about you, isn't it? Your drama. Your jealousy. Your resentment of Hazel—because she earned what you never could. Respect. Love."
Adeline stared at him, reeling.
"I didn't even know she was my sister until now," she said quietly.
That did it.
His hand came fast.
The slap cracked through the air. Her head jerked sideways, a sting exploding across her cheek.
She didn't move. Didn't speak.
He'd hit her.
He had actually hit her.
At the top of the stairs, a door opened. A woman descended slowly—composed, graceful, and ice-cold.
"I told you she'd come back and cause trouble," the stepmother said, folding her arms. "You should've never let her in. She's poison. Just like her mother."
Tears welled in Adeline's eyes, but she held them back.
Not here.
Not in front of them.
"You can sleep in the guest room," her father muttered. "If you're staying. But don't expect us to pretend everything's normal."
Adeline lifted her chin, her voice low and steady.
"I don't even know what normal is."
And for the first time since waking up, she wasn't afraid.
She was angry.