***Alissa Blake***
When I exited the taxi, I asked the driver to wait. Not because I intended to run away—though that was always a tempting option—but because I needed to be sure the visit wouldn’t last any time than necessary.
I stood there for a few minutes, looking at the house. It wasn’t grand, nor particularly beautiful, but it was where I grew up. It would have been enough if not for the circumstances. In the end, it became a place where I learned to survive and where I swore never to return.
The lawn was neatly trimmed, and the garden, oddly enough, seemed carefully maintained. It was ironic how perfect everything looked on the outside when I knew just how rotten it was on the inside.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to calm my racing heart. The memories began invading my mind without permission, flooding me with confusion and anguish I had no idea how to escape.
I was pulled back to moments no one should ever wish to revisit. And it didn’t take long for them to affect me.
I saw myself at ten years old, sitting at the kitchen table while my mother scolded me for breaking a glass, even though it had been an accident. Her tone was cold, and her eyes, even colder. My father stood in the corner, watching in silence, as he always did. Neither of them laid a hand on me that day, but words can be weapons just as sharp as knives.
"You’re a burden, Alissa." She used to say it often, maybe trying to make me believe it. And I did.
The sight of the house seemed to pull me back into those moments like a magnet, but I forced my body to move, determined to get this over with. I took a step, then another, until my feet carried me to the door.
I raised my hand to knock but hesitated. What would I say? How would I start this conversation? "Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. Are you still the same monsters who raised me, or have you gotten worse?"
I let out a nervous laugh at the thought that had just crossed my mind. And before I could lose my courage, I knocked on the door.
One. Two. Three firm knocks.
The sound echoed inside the house, and for a moment, nothing happened.
Then I heard footsteps. My stomach twisted. God, I was going to throw up if this took any longer. But before I could turn and leave, the door slowly opened, and the face that appeared before me shocked me into holding my breath.
My mother.
She hadn’t changed much. Her blonde hair was shorter and well-kept. The lines around her eyes were more pronounced, revealing her age, but she still exuded that same air of superiority she always had. That disdain never left her harsh expression, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise.
She blinked a few times as if her brain was struggling to process my presence there. Then, she smiled.
A genuine smile. What the hell is this?
"Alissa?" My heart pounded at the sound of her voice saying my name after so long.
"Hi, Mom." That word had lost its meaning a long time ago.
She stood still for a second, then covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes locked onto mine with an excitement mixed with another emotion I couldn’t decipher. I definitely wasn’t expecting this.
"My God…" She took a deep breath as if trying to regain her composure. "You… you’re here."
I didn’t have time to respond before another figure appeared behind her.
My father.
He looked different too. His hair was grayer, his posture straighter, as if he were a sober and responsible man. His eyes, however, were the same. Always so critical and rigid, always analyzing me as if I were a problem to be solved.
But, to my surprise, he didn’t look angry.
He looked… surprised. And, in a strange way, even happy.
"What…" He cleared his throat, adjusting his blue-toned dress shirt. "What are you doing here?"
I swallowed hard.
"I got a message." Yeah, I’m not great at softening the blow.
My mother frowned. "Message?"
"From a girl named Morgan."
The silence that fell between us felt like a stone crushing my skull. My mother exchanged a glance with my father. He, in turn, pressed his lips together, as if carefully choosing his words before speaking.
"Morgan…" My mother said in a soft, hesitant voice. A weak smile barely masking her discomfort.
"Yes." I crossed my arms, impatient. I tried looking past them, but I saw nothing beyond the familiar rooms. "She sent me a message. Said she wanted to meet me."
My mother lowered her eyes, adjusting the hem of her moss-green sweater as if that would help her find an answer.
"She… has been asking a lot of questions about you lately. That makes sense," my mother said, choosing her words so carefully that it felt suspicious. "I imagine that must have made her curious."
"Where is she?" I asked bluntly.
"At school." My father answered this time, his voice firm but restrained. "She attends a full-time boarding school during the week."
Sounds expensive.
I nodded, processing the information.
"And what did you tell her about me?" This was going to be interesting to hear.
My mother hesitated for a moment, and this time, the discomfort was palpable.
"We told her that you…" She cleared her throat, her nervous smile exposing her unease. "Lived away to study."
I let out a disbelieving laugh.
"Right. So you didn’t mention the little detail that you sent me to a reform school?" I kept smiling, thinking it might make the anger less obvious, but their faces were so tense that I probably just looked unhinged, laughing like that.
My mother stiffened, and my father looked away. That was the answer I needed.
They knew what they had done. They knew there was no justification, that nothing could erase it.
I took a deep breath and, without thinking much, added:
"I’d like to meet her. If you’ll allow it. How can I explain… I’ve always wanted a sister."
I don’t know where that lie came from. Maybe because it was partially true. Maybe because I wanted to see their reaction.
My mother’s eyes lit up, and that was even stranger than if they had kicked me out.
"Of course." What? My stomach twisted.
"Yes?"
"Of course." She smiled, and for the first time, it seemed sincere. "You can stay here until she gets back from school. We can have dinner together."
"Like a family." I laughed in disbelief.
My heart pounded so hard it felt like it would tear through my chest.
I looked at my father, expecting some resistance, but he only nodded. I didn’t know what to expect when I came back to this house, but I definitely wasn’t expecting this.
"What do you say?" My mother asked, her voice too soft, as if trying to persuade me.
I should say no.
I should leave.
But curiosity won over.
And for the first time in years, I stepped into that house of my own free will.