It had been two years since Marisol left Reno, Nevada, for the polished suburban streets of Whittier, California. Her stepfather, David Garrison, had bought the house shortly after marrying her mother, hoping to blend their families into a picture-perfect life.
Marisol had wanted to believe the move might mark a fresh start, a chance to rebuild after the cracks left by her father's death. But whittier felt like a place where she had been planted in the wrong soil. The house, though bigger and brighter than the cramped apartment in Reno, felt isolated and cold. And the people she lived with felt farther away than ever.
The smell of burnt toast and cheap coffee filled the air as Marisol trudged into the kitchen, her feet dragging like they were made of lead. Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin, her muscles stiff from the lingering tension of a sleepless night. Shadows had danced across her walls until the early hours, whispering in voices she couldn't quite understand.
The kitchen was alive with motion, but none of it felt welcoming. Ryan sat at the table, his head bent over his phone, shoveling cereal into his mouth with the careless efficiency of someone who barely noticed their surroundings. Across from him, Emma meticulously painted her nails, the sharp scent of polish adding to the already suffocating atmosphere of burnt bread and overused coffee grounds.
By the counter, Sofia was a picture of perfection. Her hair, styled immaculately, framed her face as she buttered a piece of toast with quick, decisive movements. Not a single wrinkle marred her pristine blouse, and her makeup was applied with the precision of someone expecting to be judged. She barely spared Marisol a glance, her tone as cold as the morning air.
"Eat something," Sofia said flatly. "I don't want you fainting at school."
Marisol moved wordlessly toward the counter and grabbed a piece of toast, the butter already congealing on its surface. She didn't bother sitting at the table. Her presence there would only draw more attention, and she wasn't in the mood for another round of taunts.
"Looking rough, Marisol," Emma said, her voice dripping with mock concern. She blew on her freshly painted nails and shot a smirk across the room. "Bad dreams?"
Marisol ignored her, biting into the toast even as her stomach churned.
Ryan didn't miss the opportunity to join in. He glanced up from his phone, his smirk widening. "She probably stayed up talking to her creepy bunny again."
A flush of heat crept up Marisol's neck, but she kept her eyes on the floor. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of a reaction. The toast tasted like ash, but she forced herself to chew, her jaw tightening with every bite.
Sofia sighed loudly, the kind of sigh meant to remind everyone of how much she was tolerating. "Emma, stop it. Ryan, don't be an ass."
But there was no weight behind her words. No fire. Just a hollow admonishment thrown out to keep up appearances. She didn't care—not really.
Marisol stared at the butter sliding across the toast, her fingers tightening around the crust. The ache in her chest felt heavier than her exhaustion, but she wasn't about to let it show. She wasn't sure she could survive another round of Sofia's sighs or Emma's smirks.
The scrape of a chair against the tile announced David's arrival. He straightened his tie as he entered, his presence immediately warming the room in a way no one else's could. His smile was genuine as he greeted them all.
"Morning, everyone," he said cheerfully, ruffling Marisol's hair as he passed. "Sleep okay, kiddo?"
Marisol hesitated, unsure how to answer. The truth felt too heavy, and she didn't trust herself to keep her voice steady. Instead, she nodded, her toast clutched tightly in her hands.
David studied her for a moment, his expression softening. He didn't press. "I'll be late tonight," he said, addressing the room. "I have to wait for Aiden after work. This will be his first dinner with us. So you guys behave."
Emma leaned back in her chair, tossing her hair over her shoulder with exaggerated flair. "We always do."
David chuckled, planting a quick kiss on Sofia's cheek before grabbing his keys. "See you tonight."
Marisol's gaze followed him to the door, the faint scent of his cologne lingering behind him. For a brief moment, the house had felt normal—warm, even. But as the door clicked shut, the chill crept back in, settling into the silence like an unwelcome guest.
Emma stood, stretching languidly. "Come on, Ryan," she said, her tone sharp with superiority. "Let's go before we have to be seen walking in with her."
Ryan smirked, shoving the rest of his cereal into his mouth before grabbing his bag. "Yeah, don't want to ruin our image."
Emma tossed her hair over her shoulder, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk. "Don't worry, Marisol," she added as she headed for the door. "Someone might find your misery charming one day—if you're lucky."
Ryan laughed, the sound fading as they disappeared down the hall.
Marisol lingered in the kitchen, her gaze fixed on the empty plate in front of her. The toast in her hand felt heavier than it should, like it carried the weight of everything she couldn't say. The shadows along the floor seemed darker than they should have been, pooling in the corners like spilled ink.
Sofia's voice broke the silence. "Try not to look so miserable today, Marisol. It's exhausting."
Marisol swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing her voice to stay even. "I'll try," she lied.
Sofia's reflection in the toaster caught Marisol's eye—perfect hair, perfect makeup, but something in her expression seemed… off. Was that guilt flickering in her eyes? No, it vanished too quickly, replaced by the same tired indifference as always.
Sofia didn't reply.
She never did.