Chapter 5

It was Adrian's phone that finally ended it for me.

He'd left it on the sofa while he went to shower. The display lit as I passed.

Grace's Family.

There were five people in the chat: my parents, my brother, Nathan, and Grace.

We were raised to believe family came before everything. Yet my own parents, my own brother, and the man I'd dated for three years had put that word over a conversation I wasn't allowed into.

Grace was in it. I wasn't.

I knew I ought to keep walking. Instead, I lifted the phone.

They had started the group the day we moved.

Mom had shared a picture of the south suite. A proper home for our Grace at last.

Adrian had replied with fireworks emojis.

I scrolled to a voice note from Mom. She sounded amused. “Nathan takes more care over Grace than he ever did over Claire. After everything that child has suffered, it's such a relief to know he'll always be there for her.”

Nathan: You don't have to worry, Mrs. M. I'm not going anywhere.

Adrian: That's a real brother right there.

They had pinned a screenshot from a separate conversation.

Grace: Won't this hurt Claire's feelings?

Nathan: No. She doesn't even know the chat exists.

Grace: Oh, good. I don't want her getting hurt.

A dancing emoji followed.

So she'd worried I might be hurt. Once she knew I wouldn't see it, she'd celebrated.

I read the messages again and put the phone back in the same spot. My fingertips felt icy.

Everyone else seemed to have agreed on my place a long time ago. I was the last to find out.

Adrian came downstairs with his hair still wet. When he noticed me, he stopped.

“Did you look at my phone?”

“Grace's Family.” I couldn't keep my voice steady. “Why isn't it my family too?”

The whole living room stilled. Mom came off the terrace. Dad lowered his cigar. Grace opened her door just enough to look out.

Adrian grabbed the phone. “We use it to talk about what Grace needs. Why would you have to be in it?”

“Because Nathan is dating me!” I was almost yelling.

I faced Mom, and my voice broke.

“When we moved in, you said I should get on with marrying him. But in there you're telling him to spend his life taking care of Grace. Where does that leave his wife? Or does she get my husband as well?”

Mom's expression hardened. “Her father died for your brother. Is this really too much for you to give her?”

Nathan came through the front door and joined in before anyone could explain.

“You're making this into something it isn't, Claire. Your dad asked me to watch out for her. That's the whole story.”

“Then why was I alone at our anniversary dinner? Why did you spend three thousand dollars on her painting supplies and give me discounted candy?”

He let out an impatient breath. “She was falling apart that day. You wanted me to abandon her? Just drop it.”

Grace started crying. “I'm so sorry. I've caused all of this.”

Adrian strode toward me and pointed in my face.

“Her father paid for my life with his blood. I owe her until the day I die. If you can't help me honor that, you've got no right to call yourself a Moretti.” His next words were quieter. “Get out.”

This was my brother. When I was twelve, I'd surrendered my own room so the daughter of the man who saved him would have a place to grieve.

No one objected.

Dad pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let's all settle down.”

He didn't take back what Adrian had said. He didn't ask me to remain.

I stood in the center of the room while they waited for me to accept that I hadn't given enough.

For the last time, I looked to Nathan.

He was stroking Grace's back. He never raised his head.

I went down the corridor and turned the lock on my door.

It only took minutes for the house to sound normal again. Mom comforted Grace, Adrian told her not to worry, and Nathan backed them up. My outburst had been an interruption, nothing more.

Four days left.

They expected me to stay at the end of that hall, hoping somebody would finally think of me.

They didn't know how little time they had left.

After everyone went to bed, I began getting rid of my belongings, a little each night.

Books from college. Worn-out clothes. Journals. Every gift Nathan had given me. I bagged it all and took it to the dumpster behind the house.

What he had given me in three years filled a single bag. It was light in my hand on the walk outside.

I washed the pink dress, folded it neatly, and set it outside Grace's door.

At four in the morning on August 14, I propped the mattress upright and returned the buckets to their places. Nothing in the room suggested anyone had lived there.

I had one backpack: a few clothes, my passport, and the letter telling me where to report.

I passed the bedroom doors in darkness. Grace's diffuser smelled of strawberries. Adrian's fan was running. From the primary suite came snores.

At the stairs, I paused to look at the names once more. Dominic & Caroline. Adrian. Grace.

We'd been there ten days. No one had ordered a plate for me.

They were all fast asleep.

They hadn't felt my absence while I was there. They wouldn't miss anything now.

The gate guard waved me through. He had no questions for the Don's daughter.

When my flight was called at Newark, I removed the SIM from my phone, snapped it, and threw the pieces in a bin near the gate.

The facility would take the handset when I arrived. Five years in the desert, far from this house. I had no plans to turn around.

August 14. The waiting was over.

Mom. Dad. Adrian. Nathan.

I was leaving you all behind.

...

The contractor came at eight to measure the closet for Grace's art storage.

Caroline escorted him down the laundry hall, explaining the shelves she wanted. She tapped on the door and opened it.

Nothing was there.

No bag, no pillow. Only the worn mattress, standing against the wall.

She dialed Claire's number and got an unavailable message. Her text failed to go through.

“Dominic.” Her voice broke. “She's left. Claire's taken everything.”

Adrian ran down in bare feet and called his sister again and again. Each call ended with the same recorded response.

Nathan arrived twenty minutes later. He stopped at the closet door. From the threshold, he could take in the entire space without turning his head.

Still holding her phone, Caroline tried to recall the last words her daughter had spoken to her.

She couldn't remember them.

They had all assumed she'd still be there in the morning, ready to give in as she always did.

Then Dominic's private number rang. He didn't recognize the caller.

The man on the other end coughed for a while before he could speak.

“Don Moretti. Raymond Costa. I drove for Thomas once. I'm running out of time, and there's something your family should know about that warehouse. About getting your son home. I should have said it ten years ago.”