Chapter 1: The Suitcase in the Living Room
The day I discovered my stepmother had thrown me out of my own home, my seventeen-year-old self was standing in the living room, staring at a suitcase that contained everything I owned.
My school uniforms were folded inside it. My winter coats were stuffed underneath. Even the little ceramic jewelry box my mother had given me before she died was sitting on top.
And my stepsister was holding the key to my bedroom.
"Why are my clothes packed?"" I asked.
Olivia leaned against the staircase, turning the silver key around her finger.
"Because you're leaving.""
For a moment, I thought she was joking.
Olivia had always enjoyed making me uncomfortable, but this was different. There was a large suitcase beside the sofa, two plastic storage boxes near the front door, and my school backpack had been emptied onto the floor.
My favorite photograph of my mother was lying face down beside the television.
"Where's Dad?"" I asked.
Olivia smiled.
"Not here.""
I dropped my backpack.
"What did you do?""
"Nothing. Mom handled everything.""
As if summoned by her name, Monica appeared from the kitchen carrying a cup of coffee.
My stepmother was wearing her expensive cream-colored cardigan and the diamond earrings Dad had bought her for their fifth anniversary.
She looked completely relaxed.
"Jasmine, don't make this difficult," she said.
I stared at her.
"What's happening?""
"You're staying somewhere else for a while.""
"Where?""
"Your aunt's house, perhaps. We haven't decided.""
I blinked.
"My aunt lives three hours away.""
"Then you'll have plenty of time to think about your attitude.""
I felt my throat tighten.
"What attitude?""
Monica placed her coffee on the table.
"Your behavior has become unbearable. You argue with Olivia, you refuse to respect this family, and you constantly make everything about yourself.""
I almost laughed.
Olivia had spent the previous evening complaining because I had used the washing machine before her. Apparently, that was now a criminal offense.
"I have school tomorrow," I said.
"I have exams. I can't just leave.""
Monica shrugged.
"You'll figure something out.""
I looked toward the stairs.
"I need to get my laptop.""
Olivia raised the key.
"Not anymore.""
My stomach dropped.
"Give me that.""
"Why?""
"Because that's my bedroom.""
Olivia laughed.
"Not after today.""
I rushed toward her.
She slipped the key behind her back.
"Olivia, stop playing around.""
"Mom said I could have the bigger room.""
I froze.
"What?""
Olivia gestured toward the staircase.
"Your room has the better closet, the bathroom, and the window overlooking the garden. Mine is tiny. It's only fair.""
"Fair?""
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"I've lived here since I was six.""
"And I've lived here for five years," she replied.
"What's your point?""
"My point is that you don't get to steal my room.""
I reached for the key.
Olivia shoved my shoulder.
Hard.
I stumbled backward and caught the edge of the console table.
"Stop pushing me!"" I shouted.
I pushed her away from me.
She immediately dropped backward onto the carpet, even though I barely touched her.
"Mom!""
Monica came running.
"WHAT DID YOU DO?""
"She pushed me!"" Olivia cried, clutching her arm.
"She took my key!"" I protested.
Monica stepped between us.
"Don't you dare touch my daughter!""
"She pushed me first!""
"Enough!""
Monica pointed toward the suitcase.
"Take your things and leave.""
I stared at her.
"You can't throw me out.""
Her expression hardened.
"Watch me.""
I reached for my phone.
"I'm calling Dad.""
Monica snatched it from my hand.
"Your father is working. He doesn't need another one of your dramatic performances.""
"Give it back!""
"Maybe when you learn some respect.""
Olivia stood behind her mother, rubbing her arm.
Then she whispered something that made my blood run cold.
"Mom, can I start moving my things upstairs now?""
Monica nodded.
"After she's gone.""
I looked at the woman who had once helped me braid my hair before school, who had attended my mother's memorial service holding my father's hand, who had promised she would never try to replace my mother.
I suddenly realized that she had stopped pretending to love me a long time ago.
But I hadn't understood how far she was willing to go.
I grabbed the suitcase handle.
My hands were shaking.
Then the front door opened.
"Jasmine?""
My father's voice filled the hallway.
Marcus had come home early.
He stepped inside, still wearing his office trousers and a navy-blue shirt. His briefcase hung from one hand.
He stopped when he saw the suitcase.
Then he noticed my red eyes.
Finally, he looked at Olivia standing beside Monica.
"What happened?""
Monica moved immediately.
"Marcus, thank goodness you're home. Jasmine just attacked Olivia.""
Dad put his briefcase down.
"She did what?""
"She became aggressive when we tried to explain the new living arrangements.""
I shook my head.
"That's not true.""
Monica sighed dramatically.
"Please don't start again, Jasmine.""
Dad looked at the suitcase.
Then at the plastic boxes.
Then at my backpack lying open on the floor.
He asked one question.
"Why is my daughter's entire life packed into a suitcase?""
Nobody answered.
I swallowed.
"They're kicking me out, Dad.""
His expression changed.
"What?""
I wiped my cheeks.
"Monica says I have to leave. Olivia has my bedroom key. They already packed my clothes.""
Dad turned toward his wife.
"You're doing WHAT?""
Monica folded her arms.
"Marcus, calm down. This is a family decision.""
"Family decision? Without me?""
"You're always working. Someone has to deal with the problems in this house.""
Dad looked at me.
"Jasmine, go sit down.""
"But—"
"Please. Let me understand what's happening.""
I didn't move.
Because there was something else.
Something much bigger than my bedroom.
I looked at Olivia.
Her face had lost its smug expression.
Then I turned toward my father.
"Dad, there's a reason they suddenly want me gone.""
His eyebrows pulled together.
"What reason?""
I reached into the front pocket of my backpack and pulled out a printed letter.
The scholarship committee's logo was at the top.
"Three weeks ago, I made it to the final round of the National Future Leaders Scholarship.""
Dad stared at the paper.
"The scholarship worth one hundred and fifty thousand dollars?""
I nodded.
His face brightened.
"Jasmine, that's incredible! Why didn't you tell me?""
"I tried.""
I looked at Monica.
"Someone deleted the interview invitation from my laptop.""
The room went silent.
Then Olivia whispered:
"Oh my God.""
Dad turned slowly.
"Olivia?""
May you like
She looked at her mother.
And for the first time that afternoon, Monica looked afraid.
