“You made it all up,” Matty said, each word angrier than the last. “You lied to her. You scared her. You used her medical record like a leash because it made you feel powerful.”
He glanced between them, his expression pure hate. “Which means you’re not just bad parents—you’re conniving little assholes.”
My mother’s breath hitched, like he’d slapped her. My father’s face flushed an ugly red. They both stared at Matty like they were seeing someone unhinged.
“And if you want a diagnosis…because the two of you seem to love them so much…I’ve got one for you. She’smine.” Matty bared his teeth in something that wasn’t a smile. “Write it down. Stamp it across my forehead. Because I won’t stop thinking about her. I don’t want to. She’s in my head when I wake up. She’s under my skin when I try to sleep. She’s it for me. And you’re out of your damn minds if you think I’m letting you hurt her ever again.”
My knees nearly gave out. My heart pounded so violently I thought he’d feel it through his chest.
My mom’s face softened into pity again, her eyes glistening. “Oh, Matthew. You’ll destroy yourself trying to hold her up.”
He shook his head slowly, never looking away from her. “You’ve got it wrong. She doesn’t drag me down. She makes me stronger. You see her as fragile? I don’t. I see a girl who survived everything you threw at her and still finds a way to stand here breathing. You think that’s sickness? I think it’s the bravest damn thing I’ve ever seen.”
My breath caught, a sob clawing at my throat. I loved him so much.
“Get out of here,” Matty ordered. “You’re not welcome. Not until she says you are.”
My mother’s mouth opened, trembling around words she didn’t quite know how to form. “Ophelia,” she said softly, in that tone she used when she wanted to sound gentle but was really just trying to manipulate. “We were just trying to help.”
Something inside me snapped cleanly into place.
I lifted my middle fingers, both of them, right there on the sidewalk. “Consider me helped,” I said, my voice shaking—but not from fear this time.
Matty huffed out a quiet, disbelieving laugh beside me, the kind that sounded proud and wrecked all at once. Then he laced his fingers through mine, and we started walking.
We didn’t look back.
I stirred the pot, the smell of chicken and garlic thick in the air as I made Matty’s favorite…chicken noodle soup.
And for once I didn’t have to feel guilty for doing it.
Riley sat on the counter, legs swinging, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun that somehow still looked perfect. She was scrolling on her phone with one hand, sipping iced coffee with the other.
“That smells so good,” she said. “You’re going to let me have some, right?”
“Of course,” I said shyly. I was still getting used to the fact that I now had three roommates...and that they wanted to hang out with me. I smiled a little, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s Matty’s favorite. His mom used to make it before every big game in high school.”
Riley grinned. “That’s adorable. It’s nice having someone in the house who can cook.”
I laughed softly and turned to the cabinet above the stove. “He said he likes a ton of pepper, so I’m just going to?—”
The second I opened it, a dozen orange pill bottles tumbled out like hail. They clattered across the counter, a few bouncing onto the tile floor and rolling under the island.
“Oh my gosh,” Riley squeaked, diving forward. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t put that away very well.”
She crouched to scoop them up, muttering under her breath as she gathered the bottles into her arms.
I bent down to help her, my eyes catching the labels, vitamins, supplements, and a few prescriptions I didn’t recognize. “Are these all yours?” I asked gently, handing her one.
Riley nodded, cheeks pink. “Yeah. I have chronic fatigue syndrome,” she said quickly, like it was something she’d had to explain before. “I take a bunch of stuff to help. Or…try to help. Some of it’s prescriptions, some of it’s just vitamins. My system looks like a science experiment half the time.”
She gave a small laugh, embarrassed, but I could hear the edge underneath it—the exhaustion of living with something no one else could see.
I leaned against the counter. “That must be hard. Having people not really get it.”
Riley’s mouth twisted. “Yeah. They see you standing there, smiling, and think you’re fine. They don’t see the mornings where you can’t lift your head off the pillow or the way it feels like your bones are made of lead.” She hesitated, fingers brushing the label on one of the bottles. “For a long time, I thought there was somethingwrongwith me. Like my body couldn’t keep up with the rest of the world.”
I looked at her, my throat tight. “I get that.”
