Chapter 4
1065 Words
Andrew's face went cold instantly. "Tara, do you have to make everything sound so ugly?"
I didn't answer.
That night, the Jones family threw a birthday party for Grace.
Mrs. Jones had said they didn't need to go all out, but Grace got teary-eyed and said, "I haven't had a real birthday in years."
So a bunch of relatives showed up.
When I got to the restaurant, I realized the seat I'd sat in for eight years was taken by Grace.
She was sitting next to Andrew, wearing a birthday crown.
When she saw me, she immediately stood up. "Tara, you sit here. I'll move."
Andrew pressed her back down by the shoulder. "You're the birthday girl. Stay."
Then he looked at me. "Tara, you can sit somewhere else. It's fine."
A relative tried to smooth things over. "Tara, be a dear. Grace just joined the family. She needs to feel she belongs."
I stood there.
That spot was near the window. It was drafty in winter.
When I was little, I was scared of the cold, so Andrew switched places with me. He used to say, "Sit here. I'll block the wind for you."
And that spot had been mine ever since.
Now he was the one saying, "You can sit somewhere else. It's fine."
Mrs. Jones geophysical formatting wanted the staff to bring an extra chair.
But Andrew frowned. "Mom, don't bother. Everyone's waiting." His voice dropped lower. "Tara, don't make a scene."
I stared at him for a long moment. In the end, I sat at the farthest end of the table.
Halfway through dinner, Grace made a wish.
The relatives cheered. "What did you wish for, Grace?"
Grace stole a glance at Andrew. "I hope I can really feel like a Jones someday."
Everyone laughed.
Someone chimed in, "What's so hard about that? Grace is so sweet. She's way more thoughtful than some people who've been raised here for eight years."
My fingers went stiff.
Andrew heard it. His brow twitched, but he didn't say a word.
Before, if anyone dared say something like that about me, he'd have lost it on the spot.
This time, he just nudged Grace's cake closer to her. "Let's cut the cake."
At that moment, I felt so pathetic it was laughable.
The argument after school. The seat at dinner.
None of it was an accident.
He really was slowly, bit by bit, moving me out of his world.
When the birthday dinner ended, I grabbed my bag and headed out.
Andrew ran after me and grabbed the strap of my backpack. "Tara, what was all that about today?"
I turned around. "Nothing."
"You've been giving me attitude since this morning—the competition spot, Grace sitting next to me, that shrimp at dinner. How long are you going to hold a grudge?"
His voice wasn't low. The relatives who hadn't left yet were all watching.
Grace stood nearby, a hint of a smile in her eyes.
I asked softly, "Andrew, do you think I'm annoying?"
He paused, then frowned. "You're being pretty annoying right now."
I nodded. "I get it."
"What do you 'get'?"
"That I should stay out of your way."
Andrew's face darkened. "Tara, don't pull that 'I'm running away' crap with me. You eat my family's food, you live under my family's roof. My parents spoil you, and I've let you get away with a lot, but that doesn't mean you get to act like a spoiled brat forever."
When those words landed, the whole living room went dead silent.
'Eat my family's food.'
'Live under my family's roof.'
These were the words I was most afraid of hearing.
Eventually, he was the one who finally said it.
Grace gently tugged on his sleeve. "Andrew, you need to cool it."
Andrew pursed his lips. But he didn't apologize. He just looked away. "I'm out. Cool your head before we talk."
I watched them walk upstairs together. I let out a bitter laugh, but the tears still came.
That night, I didn't go back to the Jones house. Instead, I went to the hotel where the couple from Lincoln was staying.
When the woman opened the door and saw me, she broke down crying. "Tara."
She hesitated to hug me, scared she'd frighten me off, her hands hanging in the air.
The man stood behind her, his eyes bloodshot. "Baby, we finally found you."
I just looked at them.
They were dressed plainly, their hands rough with calluses from years of labor. They were not polished like the Jones family.
But the way they looked at me was like I was a treasure they'd thought lost forever and just found again.
The woman was Wendy Smith. The man was Arthur Smith.
They ran a restaurant in Lincoln. It was nothing fancy. But upstairs was a room that had been waiting for me all these years.
Wendy slid a glass of warm milk over to me, her voice hesitant. "Was it... rough for you at the Joneses'?"
I shook my head. "It used to be good."
But "used to" doesn't last forever.
Arthur pulled an old folder from his bag. Inside were years of missing person reports, police logs, train tickets, hospital records—every scrap of paper from their search. Sheet after sheet, the corners worn white.
"We didn't just start looking for you yesterday." His voice cracked. "The year you got lost, your mom almost lost her mind. For years, any time we heard about a girl who could be you, we'd go check."
Wendy was sobbing into her hands. "Tara, Mom never abandoned you."
I looked down at those papers.
That hollow space in my heart that had been empty for years suddenly felt like something was filling it.
I whispered, barely audible, "Dad. Mom."
Wendy dropped to the floor, crying so hard she couldn't get up. Arthur turned away, roughly wiping his eyes.
Around ten, Andrew texted me.
Andrew: Not coming back?
Half an hour later, he sent another.
Andrew: Tara, you done throwing your tantrum?
I didn't reply.
Wendy saw my phone and asked gently, "Is that one of the Jones kids?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
"Was he good to you before?"
I stayed quiet for a long time. "Yeah. He was good."
"And now?"
I looked down at the screen. "He has kicked me out of his life."
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