After Mr. Harrison passed away, Cynthia thought the worst was behind her. She had no idea that Mrs.
Davies and her grown kids were about to turn her period of grief into something much worse. But Mrs. Miller showed up with the one thing they never saw coming.
After Cynthia’s parents split up, she stayed with Mr. Harrison. Not because she didn’t love her mom.
She did. But Mrs. Miller was moving out of state, and Cynthia didn’t want to leave her school, her friends, or the room she’d grown up in.
Both of her parents understood. When Mr. Harrison married Mrs.
Davies, Cynthia tried to make it work. Mrs. Davies didn’t.
She barely tolerated Cynthia. Her smiles felt fake, and her tone always came with a sting. Like when she’d say, “You left your plate in the sink, again,” but in that sugary-sweet voice that screamed, You’re not really wanted here.
Her adult kids, Leo and Chloe, were just as bad. They’d breeze in like they owned the place, eating Mr. Harrison’s food, turning up the TV, and rolling their eyes at Cynthia like she was some stray dog he hadn’t kicked out yet.
But Mr. Harrison had Cynthia’s back. Always.
He never let them push Cynthia around. If Mrs. Davies got snippy, he’d deflect.
If Leo, Cynthia’s stepbrother, started making snide remarks, Mr. Harrison would shut it down fast. He was the buffer between Cynthia and all of them.
And that made it bearable. That made it home. Then he died.
Just like that. A heart attack on a random Tuesday. Cynthia was still in shock when they had the funeral.
She felt like she was floating through it, totally zoned out. Everyone said the usual stuff: He was a good man. He loved you so much.
He’s in a better place now. Cynthia wanted to scream at them all. After the service, Cynthia didn’t want to go back to the house.
There were just too many memories. Too much tension. So she stayed the night at her best friend Sarah’s place, just a few blocks away.
Sarah’s family understood that Cynthia just needed some time to clear her head. The next morning, Cynthia walked home. She should’ve known something was off.
The driveway was empty, but the porch… was packed. With all of Cynthia’s stuff. Her clothes, books, the picture of Cynthia and Mr.
Harrison fishing when she was eight, and much more were tossed into cardboard boxes like trash. A sweater she thought she’d lost was hanging halfway out of one of the boxes. Cynthia blinked at it, confused.
“What the…?”
She dropped her bag and ran up to the door. Locked. Cynthia jiggled the knob, knocked, knocked harder.
That’s when the door opened, and Mrs. Davies stood there with arms crossed and a smug look on her face. Behind her, Leo leaned against the hallway wall, smirking.
His sister, Chloe, was sitting on the stairs inside, scrolling through her phone, barely looking up. “You didn’t actually think you’d stay here, did you?” Mrs. Davies said, tilting her head.
“This house is for family.”
Cynthia’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. “This was your father’s home,” she went on. “And now he’s gone, so as his wife, it’s mine, and it’s time for my family to move forward.
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