I pause. Swallow. My throat burns.
“You deserve better than what this place has given you. I mean that. I hope one day you leave this town and never look back. I hope you find something real. Something good. I hope it feels like home. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just… I just didn’t want you thinking I never cared.”
I stop the recording. My thumb hovers over the Send button. One tap. That’s all it would take. One second and it would be hers.
But I don’t press it.
Maybe I hesitate because I’m scared. Maybe because it’s too honest. Too late.
I lock the screen and slide the phone back into my jacket.
Later, I tell myself. I’ll send it later.
But later never comes.
Because before I even leave the room, before I so much as try and get out of her bed, I’m already gone.
Adeline
One year ago
I’ve just gotten back from the corner shop, plastic bag in hand, its contents clinking together—another box of candles for a cake I’ve bought myself, again. I glance at the receipt. Sixteen candles. I’ve been doing this since I was seven.
It’s always been a sort of quiet ritual to remind myself it’s still my day, even if no one else notices. Or cares. And yet I can’t help but wonder how long I’ll keep doing this—how much longer I’ll sit in my room, in the dark, buying my own candles and singing to myself because no one else will.
My brother has always taken up the space, the attention. The prodigy, the golden boy, the one everyone adored, the one I once looked up to. Not anymore. They love him, but they haven’t seen his halo slip the way I have.
I refuse to be naïve anymore.
I step inside the house and temporarily glance around at the aftermath of Mason’s party. It’s not as messy as last time, and definitely quieter than last time.
I see Sam, my older sister, in the kitchen leaning against the counter as she watches me with an expression I can’t quite place. Concern? Annoyance? It’s hard to tell. “Where have you been?”
“Why do you care?” My words come out sharper than I intend, but I don’t stop to soften them. I drop the bag onto the table with a dull thud.
Sam crosses her arms. “You missed the party.”
I exhale slowly, forcing my voice to stay calm. “Sam, when have I ever wanted to stay for the party?”
Her brow furrows, but she doesn’t argue. She knows I’m right. “You could’ve still been here,” she says instead, her tone quieter now.
“For what?” I ask, a thread of exhaustion slipping into my voice. “To watch Mason blow out the candles? Again?” Sam doesn’t answer right away. She looks down at her hands, fiddling with the edge of her sweater. “Where is everyone?” I ask, more to fill the silence than anything else.
She hesitates, then shrugs. “Mum and Dad took Naomi to get more food for dinner.”
Of course. “Their usual dinner to celebratehisbirthday,” I mutter under my breath, the words more bitter than I intend.
Sam hears it anyway. She shifts uncomfortably. “Addie—”
“It’s fine,” I cut her off, waving a hand. “It’s always the same.”
It doesn’t matter how many times I remind them that it’s my birthday too, they’ll console me, but in the end nothing ever changes.
I don’t say anything else, don’t trust myself to. Instead, I head upstairs, the old wood creaking under my weight. But when I reach my room, I stop.
My door is open.
That’s strange. I always shut it. Always.
