Chapter 1
I was twenty-one years old when my stepmother decided I no longer belonged in my father's house.
She didn't ask me to leave.
She ordered me to.
And the worst part was that she waited until my father was away before telling me.
"You're an adult now, Maya," Jasmine said, standing in my bedroom doorway. "It's time you learned how to survive without living off other people."
I stared at her.
"Living off other people?"
She folded her arms across her white sleeveless blouse.
"Don't pretend you don't understand. You've had everything handed to you long enough."
My throat tightened.
"This is my home."
Jasmine laughed.
"No, sweetheart. This is the home your father and I share. You're just someone who's overstayed her welcome."
I felt something inside me break.
I'd lived in that house since I was eleven.
My father had bought it two years after my mother died, hoping a fresh start would help us heal.
Every bedroom, every hallway, every family photograph held a piece of my childhood.
And now Jasmine was standing there telling me I didn't belong.
"Does Dad know you're asking me to leave?"
Her smile disappeared.
"Your father doesn't need to approve every decision I make."
"But it's his house."
"It's our house, Maya. And I'm his wife."
She stepped closer.
"You have until tonight to pack."
I couldn't speak.
Jasmine glanced around my bedroom with an expression of disgust.
"And don't take anything that doesn't belong to you."
Then she walked away.
I stood completely still until I heard her footsteps disappear down the staircase.
Only then did I start crying.
I pulled my old blue suitcase from beneath the bed and threw it open.
My hands shook as I grabbed clothes from the dresser.
Jeans.
Sweaters.
My gray hoodie.
A small photograph of my mother.
I held that picture against my chest.
She was smiling in it, her arms wrapped around me when I was six years old.
I remembered how safe I used to feel.
Before cancer took her.
Before Jasmine entered our lives.
Before home became a place where I was afraid to speak.
"I'm sorry, Mom," I whispered.
I didn't even know what I was apologizing for.
Maybe for not being stronger.
Maybe for letting another woman make me feel unwanted in the only home I'd ever known.
I was stuffing my clothes into the suitcase when my bedroom door suddenly opened.
"Maya?"
I turned.
My father stood in the doorway.
Marcus Carter was a strong man, nearly six feet tall, with broad shoulders, a bald head, and a neatly trimmed beard.
He was still wearing the dark burgundy polo shirt he'd worn to work that morning.
But the moment he saw my tears, his expression changed.
"Sweetheart, why are you packing?"
I tried to answer.
Nothing came out.
He crossed the room immediately.
"Maya, look at me."
I wiped my cheeks.
"Jasmine told me I have to leave."
For several seconds, my father didn't move.
"What?"
My voice broke.
"She said I'm too old to stay here. She told me I have until tonight."
His eyes moved from my face to the open suitcase.
Then back to me.
"She said that?"
I nodded.
"She said this isn't my home anymore."
Something frightening passed across his face.
Not anger at me.
Something much deeper.
"Did she tell you I agreed?"
I hesitated.
"She said you didn't need to approve everything."
My father's jaw tightened.
He took a slow breath.
"Stay right here."
"Dad, please don't fight because of me."
He looked at me.
"Maya, you are not the problem."
Then he turned and walked out.
I heard his footsteps thunder down the stairs.
A moment later, his voice filled the house.
"JASMINE!"
I rushed after him, stopping halfway down the staircase.
Jasmine was seated at the dining table, calmly eating dinner.
My father entered the room.
"You told my daughter to leave my house?"
Jasmine barely looked up.
"She's grown, Marcus. She needs her own place."
"That wasn't my question."
She placed her fork down.
"And I gave you my answer."
My father stared at her.
"You went into her bedroom and ordered her to pack?"
"I told her the truth. She's twenty-one years old. She can't live here forever."
My father's hand struck the dining table.
The plates rattled.
"YOU DON'T GET TO THROW MY DAUGHTER OUT!"
Jasmine jumped to her feet.
"Don't shout at me in my own house!"
"Then don't mistreat my child!"
"Your child?" Jasmine snapped. "What about me? What about our marriage? Am I supposed to spend the rest of my life putting your precious daughter first?"
My father looked stunned.
"She's never done anything to you."
Jasmine laughed bitterly.
"Of course you believe that. She's always been perfect in your eyes."
I stepped into the doorway.
Neither of them noticed.
My suitcase stood beside me.
Jasmine continued.
"I'm tired of coming second to a girl who should have moved out years ago."
My father spoke quietly.
"Then you should remember whose family was here first."
The room went silent.
Jasmine's face hardened.
"So that's what this is?"
My father didn't answer.
She stepped toward him.
"You're choosing her over me?"
He looked directly into her eyes.
"I'm choosing my daughter."
I covered my mouth.
For years, I'd convinced myself my father would eventually get tired of defending me.
Jasmine had spent so much time telling me that marriage came before everything else.
That I was only a temporary part of his life.
That eventually he would want me gone.
But there he stood.
Refusing to let her push me out.
Jasmine's voice trembled with anger.
"You'll regret saying that."
My father turned toward the doorway.
That's when he saw me.
His expression softened immediately.
"Maya."
I stood there holding my suitcase, unable to stop crying.
"I'm sorry, Dad."
He walked straight toward me.
"Put that suitcase down."
"But Jasmine said—"
"I don't care what Jasmine said."
He took my trembling hand.
"This is your home. And nobody is taking that away from you."
Behind him, Jasmine made an angry sound.
"Marcus, don't you dare undermine me!"
My father turned back.
His voice became colder than I'd ever heard it.
"If somebody is leaving tonight, it won't be her."
Jasmine went pale.
For one beautiful second, I thought the nightmare was over.
Then she slowly smiled.
It wasn't a frightened smile.
It was the smile of someone who knew something nobody else did.
"Be very careful, Marcus," she whispered.
My father narrowed his eyes.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Jasmine reached for her phone.
"You think this is your house?"
She looked at me.
Then at my father.
"Before you throw anyone out, I suggest you find out whose name is actually on the paperwork."
My father's expression changed.
"What paperwork?"
Jasmine slipped the phone into her pocket.
"Ask your daughter."
My heart stopped.
Because I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
And when my father turned toward me with confusion in his eyes, I realized something terrifying.
Jasmine hadn't simply been trying to get rid of me.
She was hiding something.
May you like
Something involving our home.
And somehow, she'd already decided I was going to take the blame.
