Ava's POV
I’ve always been the good girl at these family reunions—the one who helps with dishes, smiles politely, never causes trouble. The one everyone calls “sweet Ava” or “little Ava” even though I turned 21 in March. But this year something shifted the second I stepped out of the car. The air smelled like pine needles baked in sun and that faint, sticky tang of sunscreen everyone slathered on too thick. Barbecue smoke curled up from the grill on the deck, mixing with lake water and bug spray. Familiar. Comforting.
But the way they looked at me wasn’t familiar anymore.
Dad hugged me first—tight, normal, smelling like coffee and motor oil from the drive. Mom kissed my cheek and immediately handed me a grocery bag to carry inside. But then the others started drifting over.
Ryan—28,
