“I… think so.”
She squeezes.
“Real power doesn’t come from being the girl everyone talks about,” Irene says softly. “It comes from surviving the moments when everyone is talking about you for the wrong reasons.”
Her eyes sharpen, not unkind but intensely honest.
“Jealousy, envy, insecurity—those fueled every girl who ever hurt you. They saw something in you that they wanted.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have anything they want.”
“Yes,” she says firmly. “You do.”
I look up.
“You have athleticism. You have authenticity. You have grit. You have heart.”
She brushes a strand of hair away from my cheek.
“You have things their money can’t buy.”
My throat goes tight.
“And girls like that?” Irene continues, “They would rather destroy you than risk you figuring out you’re stronger than them.”
I stare into the fire.
My chest aches.
But it’s a different ache—lower, deeper, less panic and more truth.
Aunt Susan clears her throat. Her mask has cracked into a hundred little pieces across her face.
“Irene tells this story every time someone forgets they’re the main character,” she says, trying to lighten it.
But Irene shakes her head.
“No. I’m telling it because Jade needs to hear it.”
My eyes sting.
The fire blurs.
Irene pulls a blanket over my legs and holds my hands again.
“You survived the kind of humiliation that would’ve destroyed girls like Alexis,” she says gently. “Destroyed them. And you survived it twice.”
Her voice softens.
“You are not weak, sweetheart. You are not broken. You are not finished. You’re becoming.”
I breathe out slowly.
I stare at the fire for a long moment before I ask it.
“What happened to her? To Alexis?”
Irene leans back, sighs, and props her feet on the ottoman like she’s settling into a memory she hasn’t touched in a while.
