Chapter 139 Nobody Told Me
Olivia's POV:
Sarah lifted her head, her eyes unexpectedly serious. "Liv, you probably don't even realize this, but every time you and Mr. Bennett argue, I get really scared."
I smiled weakly. "Afraid he'll get angry and take it out on you?"
Sarah shook her head emphatically. "No, no. I'm not afraid of Mr. Bennett being angry at me. I'm afraid you two will break up."
"Why?" I asked, genuinely surprised.
"Every day you stay here is another day I get to work here." Sarah lowered her gaze, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of the couch cushion. "If you and Mr. Bennett split up, I become... worthless. I'd lose this job."
She stared down at her hands, voice growing quieter.
"You know what they say—it's easy to get used to luxury, but hard to give it up. Once I leave this place, finding another job like this—simple work with great pay—won't be so easy." She looked up, eyes earnest. "But mostly, I'll never find an employer as kind as you."
I reached out, patting the back of her hand. "If that day ever comes, I'll ask him to keep you here until you're ready to retire. How's that?"
Sarah shook her head firmly. "No. If you leave, I leave too. I only want to take care of you, not some new woman. And a new woman probably wouldn't keep me around anyway."
"Don't think about that stuff. It's Christmas. We should be happy."
Sarah nodded vigorously. "You're right."
After dinner, we settled onto the long sofa in the living room to watch the New Year's Eve special. But neither of us was really watching. The TV played to itself while we both scrolled through our phones.
I finished replying to a message and opened Instagram, scrolling aimlessly. Tonight's feed was predictable—everyone showing off their Christmas feasts and happy family gatherings.
My stepmother Jessica had posted not just her Christmas dinner but also pictures of their new house. Under warm lighting, a polished wooden round table overflowed with roast turkey, mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, ham, and dinner rolls.
I counted the place settings—eight plates, eight sets of silverware.
My grandfather, grandmother, dad, Jessica... my half-brother Tyler. That made five.
Yet there were eight place settings.
Jessica's parents and brother must have joined them. The realization sat like a stone in my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Not wanting to dwell on it, I quickly scrolled down, but stopped cold at what I saw next.
My half-sister's post—"Mom, I hope you're happy in heaven."
I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling as I messaged her.
[Did Mom pass away?]
A moment later, she replied.
[Yes.]
[When?] I typed.
[The night before last.]
[Was it illness or something else?] My heart pounded as I waited.
[Car accident.]
I didn't ask anything more.
What was the point? I couldn't go back anyway.
According to our hometown traditions, they'd probably already cremated her yesterday.
Yet no one had bothered to tell me until now. Two days later.
But who would have told me?
My dad's side cut contact with my mom's family long ago.
And my mom had remarried, had new children.
Her firstborn—her mistake from before marriage—had been forgotten.
I was an outsider everywhere. To my mother, I was a youthful error. To my father, I was excess baggage.
And now, with Ethan, nothing had changed.
"Sarah," I set down my phone and smiled at her, though my chest felt hollow. "Do we have hot chocolate? Let's sit in the backyard for a bit."
Sarah looked startled, then nodded quickly. "Yes, yes, we do. Give me a minute."
She hurried to the kitchen, and I heard her bustling around. A few minutes later, she emerged with two steaming mugs.
"Come on," she said. "It's cold outside, but the lights will look beautiful."
The tiny lights in the backyard were still on, twinkling along the fence and wrapped around tree branches. In the distance, the neighbors' Christmas decorations flickered in the snowy night. The entire neighborhood was quiet except for the wind and the occasional passing car.
We sat on the lounge chairs on the patio, each with a blanket over our legs. The cold air turned our breath into white mist, rising up to mingle with the steam from our mugs.
I cradled the mug in one hand, watching the candy canes and reindeer lights on a distant rooftop. I swirled the hot chocolate slightly, watching the marshmallows—not quite melted—floating on the surface.
After a while, I took a small sip and said, as casually as if commenting on the weather, "My mother died the night before last."
Sarah had been adjusting the blanket to cover me better. At my words, her hand froze, and she nearly spilled hot chocolate on her fingers, wincing as the hot liquid splashed.
"What did you say?" She stared at me uncertainly. "Your mom died?"
I nodded slightly and repeated quietly, "Yes, my mother passed away. I just found out now, scrolling through social media."
Sarah opened and closed her mouth, not knowing what to say.
"I saw my half-sister's post," I sniffed. "That's how I found out she died."
"But... why didn't anyone tell you?" Sarah asked.
I gave a bitter smile. "Maybe they forgot about me. Or maybe they didn't think I mattered."
Sarah set her mug aside and moved to hug me.
I gently pushed her away. "It's okay. I'm just... I don't know what kind of sad this is. I didn't see her much growing up—a few times in elementary school, twice in middle school. After she remarried, I rarely saw her at all."
Sarah pressed her mug between her palms. "I don't know how to comfort you. My family was pretty fucked up too. Everyone was either crazy or stupid—the only normal ones were me and my dad. And you know what my dad did to me?"
"Beat you? Yell at you?" I asked.
Sarah gave a bitter laugh. "That would have been mild. When I was in middle school, he pushed open the bathroom door while I was showering, said he needed to help wash me."
I went silent.
"He forced himself on me several times," Sarah said, her voice flat and distant. "I finally couldn't take it anymore and ran away."
"Did you ever tell—" The question felt stupid before I even finished. A teenage girl, who would she tell? Who would believe her?
I gripped Sarah's shoulders, looking her straight in the eyes. "Don't ever go back! Never go back there!"
Sarah nodded firmly. "I won't. I'm never going back."
I hugged her briefly, then put my arm around her shoulder. "Come on, it's cold out here. Let's go back inside and watch TV."
Just as we walked into the entryway, my phone, left on the sofa, started ringing.
I hurried to the living room and picked it up. Looking at the screen, I saw a local number I didn't recognize.
"Hello?" I hesitated for a moment before answering.
Blake's voice came through. "Merry Christmas."