MY SISTER'S BOYFRIEND (CHAPTER FOUR)

The car slowed as we approached the restaurant. "I'm hungry," I said. The driver nodded. "I'll wait for you, ma." I went inside, ordered quickly, and barely tasted the food when it arrived. My mind kept returning to Katherine's comments about my design The one I'd created during the darkest period of my life, when putting my pain into fabric was the only way I knew how to survive. Submitting it meant exposing a part of myself I'd spent years hiding. I wasn't ready for that. I ate enough to settle my stomach, wrapped the leftovers, and left. By the time I settled into the car again, my hunger had quieted, but my thoughts hadn't. The drive home felt shorter than usual. By the time we reached home, my thoughts were still a mess. I walked into the living room. Veronica sat on the sofa beside Celophine, scrolling through her phone. She glanced up and smiled. "You're home late again. Should I be worried, or have you finally found somewhere more interesting to be?" "I'm working, Veronica." "Of course." She smiled sweetly. "I admire your determination. Not everyone can keep chasing a dream without knowing where it's going." I stared at her. She blinked innocently. "That was a compliment, Theresa." "Then perhaps you should work on your compliments," I muttered. Celophine scoffed. "Don't encourage her, Veronica. She's already convinced herself she's destined for something extraordinary." I turned towards her. "I've said nothing about myself." "You don't have to. It's written all over your face." She crossed her arms. "You live under this roof, eat our food, and still manage to behave as though you're doing us a favour by existing here." "I never asked you to do anything for me." "And yet, here you are." "Mom," Veronica interjected, sounding almost apologetic. "You know Theresa doesn't like being reminded of these things." Then she turned to me. "Don't take it personally. She only means that Dad has done so much for you. Perhaps you should appreciate it a little more." I let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. There it was again. Veronica's favourite trick—wounding me, then dressing the wound in sympathy. She tilted her head. "Besides, you know how Dad is. He gives everyone their space. Sometimes, I think he gives you a little too much." My smile disappeared. Veronica glanced at my face, then quickly looked away. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I didn't mean anything by it." "Of course you didn't," I replied. Veronica sighed. "Honestly, Theresa, you make everything so uncomfortable. We're only trying to help you." She picked up her phone, her expression perfectly innocent. I stared for a long second deliberating on whether to speak or not…instead I walked upstairs, locked my bedroom door, and leaned against it. "I shouldn't have come back here," I whispered. Then my father’s face surfaced in my mind. And everything else followed. FLASHBACK The day was too quiet. Too final. My mother was gone, and the world had not adjusted itself to make that any easier. I stood at the burial site like my body didn’t belong to me anymore. I felt numb. Empty. Like grief had hollowed me out and left only a shell that could still breathe. I kept looking around instinctively. Waiting. For comfort. For someone to hold me together before I broke completely. And then I saw him. My father. For one fragile second, hope flickered. He will come to me. He will hold me. But instead– He stepped forward with people behind him. A woman I didn’t know. And a girl my age. “This is Veronica,” he said. “And Celophine. Your family. Be kind to them.” He said like he had rehearsed the line. Theresa blinked. Once. Slowly. Like her brain refused to process the words. New family. At mom’s burial. My breath caught–but no sound came out. My chest tightened so hard it felt like something was breaking inside me. Then I turned. And ran. “Theresa….my father called out to me I just ran till I got to my room Locked the door and fell to the ground. My heart felt like it wanted to explode. It bled For my mother For myself How can my own father be so cruel? He couldn't even wait, or pretend to wait. PRESENT I blinked away the memory and straightened. "No," I whispered. "Not again." I moved to my desk, opened my laptop, and pulled my sketchbook closer. If there was one thing I could control, it was my work. I sketched until the hours blurred together, until the ache in my chest became something quieter, something I could ignore. Eventually, a yawn escaped me. I leaned back, rubbing my tired eyes. "I need water."

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