Chapter 1

The morning school resumed after winter break, my stepmother, Donna, pressed a dented case of off-brand protein shakes into my duffel bag.

"Take these. Drink them at school."

They were the ones people brought as hostess gifts over the holidays — the kind nobody actually wanted. They'd been sitting in the pantry for weeks.

Dad was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed.

"I'm not sending you money this semester. You worked that winter job, didn't you? Made two thousand, right? That's five hundred a month — four months, perfect."

"You're eighteen now. Time to learn what independence looks like."

My hands went still inside the duffel bag, hovering over nothing.

Across the room, my half-sister Madison was glued to her phone. Suddenly she shrieked with excitement.

"Yes! I got the floor seats! Dad, I need you to book the flights — and I want to stay at a five-star hotel!"

Dad pulled her into a hug and agreed to everything before she'd even finished the sentence.

Donna glanced at me from the corner of her eye. The diamond studs in her ears caught the light.

The three of them huddled together, laughing, scrolling through hotel options on Dad's phone.

I had watched this kind of warmth directed at everyone else in this house for ten years. It still knocked the air out of me every time.

My phone buzzed. A text from my bank.

【Chase Bank: Dear Ms. Rachel Holt, your Certificate of Deposit ending in 1234 has matured. Principal: $800,000. To renew, reply 1.】

A certificate of deposit?

I counted the zeros twice. Eight hundred thousand dollars.

I assumed it was a phishing scam. I didn't reply.

"Dad." I kept my voice flat. "I earned that two thousand to finally get this mole removed."

I touched the corner of my mouth — a raised, dark mole, nearly the size of a pea, that had been drawing stares my whole life.

Dad, Gary Holt, squinted at it with undisguised contempt.

"College and suddenly you think you're a socialite. Stop wasting money chasing vanity."

"Just like your mother. Born under a bad sign."

Donna — Linda Holt — wore a thick layer of foundation and batted her false lashes.

"Oh, sweetheart, once you graduate, I'll personally take you to get that taken care of."

That was the promise on rotation. After middle school. After high school. After you start college. Now: after you graduate.

The mole had only gotten larger. The deadline kept moving.

I'd already called a dermatologist before break. Two thousand dollars. Gone now.

The entire winter holiday I hadn't taken a single day off, working doubles at a fried chicken shack — on my feet from open to close, grease burns freckling my forearms.

I looked at Madison humming to herself as she swiped through the concert seating chart.

Something tightened in my chest.

"Dad, you dropped two grand on her floor seats without blinking. You won't give me five hundred a month for groceries. And I'm your biological daughter."

Dad's face went red.

"Watch your mouth with me."

"Fine. Your mother has been dead for ten years. You want the truth? Here it is."

"Madison is my daughter — mine and Linda's."

Donna turned her face to the wall. Said nothing.

Mom died ten years ago. I'm eighteen. Madison is fourteen.

Dad started sleeping with Linda when I was four years old.

Back then, Mom was still healthy. She was the top accountant at her firm — brilliant, always busy. She spent long days at the office, sometimes never making it home for dinner.

I remember the look on her face during those years. A kind of grief she couldn't quite wash off.

But every time she saw me, she'd erase it. She'd pull me close and smile like I was the only good thing left.

When I was seven, she got sick. She spent a year in the hospital.

Near the end, Dad held her hand by the bedside.

"Susan, are there any savings in your name? You're leaving, but the rest of us still have to live."

Mom's cheeks were hollowed out. She was colorless.

She asked him to lean in closer.

Then she spat in his face.

Dad had carried a grudge against her ever since.

I reached into my duffel bag and yanked out the protein shakes. Set them on the floor.

Linda's expression tightened, but she kept it hidden under a thin smile.

Dad clamped his hand over mine.

"Linda went out of her way to get those for you. Show some gratitude."

"She specifically asked us not to drink them — she saved every last one for you."

I pulled away. He grabbed my arm.

A sharp, searing pain shot up to my shoulder. The burn blisters from the fryer were still healing, still weeping under the skin.

Tears blurred my vision.

"Saved them for me, or just didn't want them for anyone else?"

"If they're such a gift — keep them for Madison."

The slap came fast.

It wasn't the first time.

I pressed my fingers to my cheek and looked at him — forty-five years old, breathing hard, eyes burning.

For ten years, I had waited for him to love me differently. He was my father. I was his blood.

I waited ten years. Nothing changed.

Now I understood why.

I lowered my head and went back to packing. School started soon. I just had to leave.

But I thought of the mole, and something in me went dull and aching again.

I was so tired of watching people's eyes catch on it.

If only I had the money. If only.