Chapter 1
The leather of her mother’s favorite chair felt cold against Olivia’s bare legs, even though the afternoon sun streamed through the bay window, warming the living room to an almost uncomfortable degree. She couldn’t remember sitting down. One moment she’d been standing by the fireplace, staring at the family photos that lined the mantel—her parents smiling, always smiling—and the next she’d found herself here, curled into the oversized armchair that still smelled faintly of her mother’s lavender perfume.
Mr. Smith was still talking. His voice droned on, a monotonous hum that blended with the sound of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the occasional chirp of birds at the feeder outside. Olivia watched a cardinal land on the wooden perch, its bright red plumage stark against the grey March sky. Her mother had loved cardinals. She’d filled the feeder every Sunday morning without fail, standing at this very window with her coffee, pointing out each visitor with childlike delight.
The feeder was almost empty now. Olivia had forgotten to fill it. She’d forgotten to do a lot of things this past week.
“...and as per the terms outlined in the will...” Mr. Smith’s words floated past her, meaningless syllables that required too much energy to process. The lawyer was older, maybe sixty, with silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses that kept sliding down his nose. He’d been her parents’ attorney for years. Olivia remembered him from some dinner party once, laughing at her father’s jokes, complimenting her mother’s cooking. Now he sat on the couch across from her, a leather briefcase open on the coffee table, papers spread out like accusations.
This wasn’t real. None of this was real.
Any moment now, her mother would walk through the door with grocery bags, complaining about the traffic at Whole Foods. Her father would emerge from his study, reading glasses perched on his head, asking what was for dinner. They’d laugh about this bizarre dream Olivia had been having, this nightmare where a lawyer sat in their living room discussing wills and guardianship and funeral expenses.
But the door didn’t open. The study remained dark and silent.
“Liv?”
Olivia blinked, her sister’s voice cutting through the fog that had settled over her mind. She turned her head slowly, as if moving through water, and found Mia watching her from the couch. Her older sister sat beside Ash, her husband, their hands intertwined on the cushion between them. Mia’s eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale, but she’d stopped crying hours ago. Or maybe it had been days. Time had lost all meaning.
“Did you hear what Mr. Smith said?” Mia’s voice was gentle, careful, the way people spoke around broken things.
Olivia shook her head. The movement made her dizzy, or maybe she’d been dizzy all along and just hadn’t noticed. Her hand drifted unconsciously to the bandage on her forearm, covering the stitches from where broken glass had sliced through her skin. Seven stitches. That was all she’d needed. Seven stitches, some bruises that were already fading from purple to yellow-green, and a small cut above her eyebrow that the ER doctor said wouldn’t even scar.
Minor injuries, they’d called it. She’d walked away from the accident with minor injuries.
Her parents had died on impact.
Mia exchanged a glance with Ash, something passing between them that Olivia couldn’t decipher. Her brother-in-law looked uncomfortable, his broad shoulders hunched forward, his brown eyes fixed on the floor. He’d been kind this past week, bringing food that no one ate, answering phone calls, handling details that Olivia couldn’t bear to think about. But he was still essentially a stranger. She’d only met him a handful of times since he and Mia had gotten married five years ago.
“Mom and Dad named Ash and me as your guardian,” Mia said slowly, each word deliberate and measured. “And since you won’t be eighteen for another six months, you’ll have to move to Washington with us.”
The words hung in the air, suspended like dust motes in the sunlight. Olivia stared at her sister, waiting for the punchline, for the moment when this would make sense. But Mia’s expression remained serious, sad, apologetic.
“What?” The word came out as barely a whisper. Olivia’s throat felt tight, constricted, as if someone had wrapped their hands around her neck and squeezed. “I can’t move.”
“Liv—” Mia started, but Olivia was already shaking her head, more violently this time.
“No.” Her voice cracked, breaking on the single syllable. “You can’t make me move. My whole life is here.”
Even as she said it, Olivia knew how hollow it sounded. What life? Her parents were gone. The house would be sold. Everything that had made this place home had been ripped away in an instant, in the screech of tires and the crunch of metal on a rainy Tuesday evening.
The tears came suddenly, without warning, hot and fast down her cheeks. She’d thought she’d cried herself dry over the past week, that there couldn’t possibly be any tears left. But grief, she was learning, was an endless well.
She’d been in the back seat. She remembered that much. Her father driving, her mother in the passenger seat, Olivia behind her mother with her headphones in, scrolling through her phone. She remembered her father saying something—she’d pulled out one earbud to hear him, but she couldn’t remember what he’d said now. And then the headlights, impossibly bright, coming from the wrong direction. Her father’s shout. Her mother’s scream. The impact.
And then nothing.
She’d woken up in the hospital with a headache, some cuts, bruises. The airbags had deployed. Her seatbelt had held. She’d been disoriented, confused, asking for her parents.
The doctor’s face when he’d told her they were gone—she’d never forget that expression. The pity. The sorrow.
The drunk driver had walked away too. Minor injuries, just like Olivia. A few cuts, some bruising, nothing serious. He’d stumbled out of his car and tried to run before the police arrived. He’d been so drunk he could barely stand, but he’d survived. He’d killed two people and walked away.
Just like Olivia had.
Mia moved quickly, crossing the space between them and settling onto the arm of the chair. She wrapped her arms around Olivia, pulling her close, and Olivia let herself collapse into her sister’s embrace. She buried her face in Mia’s shoulder and sobbed, her whole body shaking with the force of it.
And beneath the grief, was the guilt.
Why had she survived? Why had she walked away with nothing but cuts and bruises when her parents, sitting just two feet in front of her, had died instantly? The impact had been on the driver’s side—her father had taken the worst of it, the drunk driver’s car slamming into his door at sixty miles an hour. Her mother had sustained massive internal injuries from the force of the collision. But Olivia, in the back seat, had been protected by the very people who’d died.
She should have died too. Or if not died, then at least suffered something more than a few stitches and some fading bruises. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.
“I’m sorry, Liv,” Mia whispered, her own voice thick with emotion. “If I could, I would let you stay here, but legally I can’t. You’re still a minor.”
Olivia knew that. Some rational part of her brain understood the logistics, the legal requirements, the impossibility of a seventeen-year-old living alone. But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less. It didn’t make the unfairness of it all any easier to swallow.
She continued to cry, great heaving sobs that left her breathless and aching. Through her tears, she was dimly aware of Mr. Smith continuing his presentation, his voice a distant murmur as he discussed assets and accounts and things that didn’t matter. She heard Ash ask questions, his deep voice rumbling responses. But it all felt so far away, as if she were watching the scene from outside her own body.
Why was this happening to her? What had she done to deserve this? The questions circled her mind like vultures, unanswerable and cruel.
Her parents had been good people. They’d volunteered at the food bank, donated to charity, never missed one of Olivia’s school events. Her father had coached her soccer team when she was ten. Her mother had taught her to bake, to garden, to see beauty in small things. They’d been careful drivers, always wore their seatbelts, never texted behind the wheel.
But none of that had mattered when a drunk driver had run a red light.
Olivia felt Mia’s hand stroking her hair, the same soothing gesture their mother had used when Olivia was small and scared of thunderstorms. The familiarity of it made her cry harder.
And none of it explained why Olivia had survived when they hadn’t.
Eventually, the tears subsided, leaving her hollow and exhausted. She pulled away from Mia, wiping her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt—her father’s sweatshirt, actually, the one from his alma mater that she’d claimed from his closet three days ago. It was too big, hanging off her frame, but it still smelled like him. Like coffee and Old Spice and home.
Mr. Smith was packing up his briefcase, sliding papers into folders with practiced efficiency. Ash stood and walked him to the door, their voices low as they discussed something Olivia couldn’t hear and didn’t care about.
Mia remained perched on the arm of the chair, her hand resting on Olivia’s shoulder. The weight of it was both comforting and suffocating.
“When do I have to leave?” Olivia asked, her voice hoarse from crying. She stared out the window again, watching the cardinal fly away.
“Ash is leaving in two days,” Mia said quietly. “But you and I will stay another two weeks so we can pack up the house. Then we’ll leave for Washington.”
Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours. It seemed like both an eternity and no time at all.
Olivia nodded numbly. What else could she do?
“I’m sorry, Liv,” Mia said again, and Olivia could hear the genuine anguish in her sister’s voice. Mia was grieving too. She’d lost her parents just as surely as Olivia had. But somehow, that knowledge didn’t make Olivia feel any less alone.
“It’s not your fault,” Olivia managed, because it wasn’t. None of this was Mia’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault except the drunk driver who’d walked away from the accident with minor injuries—just like Olivia—while her parents had died on impact. He’d survived. She’d survived. The two people who’d deserved to live, who’d had so much more to offer the world, were gone.
“We’ll get through this together,” Mia said, squeezing Olivia’s shoulder. “It’s just the two of us now.”
Just the two of us. The words should have been comforting, a reminder that Olivia wasn’t completely alone in the world. But instead, they felt like a death sentence. Just the two of them, when there should have been four. When there should have been family dinners and holiday celebrations and her father walking her down the aisle someday.
Mia kissed her forehead, another gesture borrowed from their mother, and then stood. “I’m going to make some tea. Do you want anything?”
Olivia shook her head. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. Food tasted like ash in her mouth, and her stomach remained perpetually knotted.
Mia hesitated, clearly wanting to say something more, but then thought better of it. She left the room, her footsteps soft on the hardwood floor, and Olivia was alone again.
She pulled her knees up to her chest, making herself small in the big chair, and let her gaze drift back to the window. The bird feeder swayed gently in the breeze. The afternoon sun had shifted, casting long shadows across the lawn. Everything looked the same as it had a week ago, as it had her entire life. But everything was different.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, startling her. She pulled it out with shaking hands and saw Alex’s name on the screen. Her boyfriend. God, she’d barely thought about him these past few days, too consumed by her own grief to consider anyone else.
She answered on the third ring, her thumb trembling as she swiped across the screen.
“Hey, babe,” Alex’s voice was warm and familiar, an anchor in the storm. “Just calling to check in on you. How are you today?”
How was she? The question was so absurd, so impossible to answer, that Olivia almost laughed. But the sound that came out was closer to a sob.
“Not great,” she whispered. “Can you come over?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Okay.”
She ended the call and clutched the phone to her chest, counting down the seconds until Alex arrived. Ten minutes. Six hundred seconds. She could survive that long.
True to his word, Alex knocked on the door exactly ten minutes later. Olivia heard Mia answer, heard their muffled conversation in the entryway, and then Alex was there, standing in the doorway of the living room. He looked the same as always—shaggy brown hair, kind eyes, the same hoodie he’d worn to school every day since sophomore year. But the concern etched across his face was new.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Olivia stood on unsteady legs and crossed to him. He opened his arms and she walked into them, letting him hold her, letting herself be held. He was solid and real and alive, and for a moment, the crushing weight on her chest eased just slightly.
“Come on,” he murmured into her hair. “Let’s go upstairs.”
They climbed the stairs to her bedroom, a journey Olivia had made thousands of times but which now felt strange and unfamiliar. Everything in the house had taken on a dreamlike quality, as if she were walking through a museum of her own life.
Her room was exactly as she’d left it that morning—unmade bed, clothes strewn across the floor, homework abandoned on her desk. The normalcy of it was jarring. How could her room look the same when everything else had changed?
Alex closed the door behind them and they lay down on her bed, facing each other. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch gentle.
“How was the meeting with the lawyer?” he asked.
The question opened the floodgates again. “I’m moving to Washington with my sister.”
Alex’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”
“My sister and brother-in-law were listed as my guardians until I turn eighteen,” Olivia explained, her voice flat and mechanical. “And until that happens, I have to live with them.”
“Maybe you can come live with me?” Alex suggested, and Olivia could hear the desperation in his voice, the same desperation she felt clawing at her own chest.
“I can’t do that. Mia would never let that happen.” She’d already considered it, in the brief moments between learning about the move and Alex’s arrival. But she knew it was impossible. Alex’s parents were nice enough, but they wouldn’t take in a grieving teenager for six months. And legally, Mia had custody. There was no way around it.
“I don’t want you to go,” Alex said, and his eyes were shining with unshed tears.
“I don’t want to go either.” The admission hurt, physically hurt, like someone had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart.
“When do you leave?”
“Two weeks.”
Alex was quiet for a long moment, processing. Then he said, with forced brightness, “Okay. I have two weeks to make sure you don’t forget about me.”
Despite everything, Olivia felt a small smile tug at her lips. “I could never forget about you.”
He leaned forward and kissed her, soft and sweet and tinged with sadness. When they pulled apart, Olivia rested her forehead against his, breathing him in, memorizing this moment. In two weeks, everything would be different. She’d be in a new state, a new house, a new life she didn’t want and hadn’t asked for.
But for now, for these few precious hours, she could pretend. She could lie here with Alex and pretend that the world hadn’t ended, that her parents were downstairs making dinner, that tomorrow she’d wake up and go to school and complain about homework and worry about normal teenage things.
They lay together in silence, Alex’s arms wrapped around her, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear. Outside, she could hear Mia and Ash talking in low voices, the sound of dishes clattering in the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator. Normal sounds. Life continuing, indifferent to her pain.
Olivia closed her eyes and tried to remember what it felt like to be happy. It had only been a week, but already the memory was fading, slipping through her fingers like water. She remembered laughing at dinner last Tuesday, her father telling some ridiculous dad joke, her mother rolling her eyes affectionately. She remembered feeling annoyed when they’d asked about her homework, feeling embarrassed when her mom had kissed her goodbye in front of her friends.
She’d give anything to feel annoyed or embarrassed again. She’d give anything for one more dinner, one more joke, one more kiss goodbye.
“Tell me something good,” she whispered to Alex. “Tell me about something normal.”
Alex was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then he said, “Jake got suspended for putting a frog in Mrs. Henderson’s desk drawer.”
Despite herself, Olivia huffed out a small laugh. “That’s so stupid.”
“I know. She screamed so loud the whole hallway heard it.” He paused. “Everyone’s been asking about you. They want to know when you’re coming back.”
Back to school. Back to normal. Except there was no normal anymore, and Olivia couldn’t imagine sitting in a classroom, taking notes, pretending to care about algebra or American history when her entire world had collapsed.
“I don't know if I'll come back before I leave,” she admitted.
“That’s okay. Take your time.”
But she didn’t have time. That was the problem. She had two weeks, and then she’d be gone, ripped away from everything and everyone she’d ever known.
They lay there for hours, talking occasionally but mostly just existing together in comfortable silence. Alex told her about school, about their friends, about the mundane details of a life that felt impossibly distant. Olivia listened, grateful for the distraction, for the reminder that the world was still turning even though hers had stopped.
Eventually, as the sun began to set and the room grew dark, Alex had to leave. His parents expected him home for dinner. He kissed her goodbye at her bedroom door, holding her tight, and promised to come back tomorrow.
“I love you,” he said, and Olivia could hear the weight behind the words, all the things he wasn’t saying. I’m sorry. This isn’t fair. I wish I could fix this.
“I love you too,” she replied, and meant it with every broken piece of her heart.
After he left, Olivia returned to her mother’s chair downstairs. Mia and Ash were in the kitchen, cooking something that smelled good but made Olivia’s stomach turn. She curled up in the chair, pulling her father’s sweatshirt tighter around herself, and stared out at the darkening sky.
The bird feeder was empty. The cardinal was gone. And in two weeks, Olivia would be gone too, leaving behind the only home she’d ever known, the only life she’d ever wanted.
She closed her eyes and let the tears come again, silent this time, streaming down her face as the last light faded from the sky. This was her life now. This grief, this loss, this unbearable weight of everything that would never be.
