Meant for love, bound by blood

Left Behind Again

The clock struck eleven, the sound hollow against the tense silence.

“She’s been gone all day,” Lorraine snapped, arms crossed tight. “Since before sunrise.”

Brandon let out a sharp sigh from the armchair. “She’s nineteen, not nine. Stop worrying over nothing.”

Andrew paced, anger sparking off every movement. “You call this nothing? She disappears for hours and you sit there like you don’t care?”

“Because I don’t,” Brandon muttered.

Malcolm’s gaze stayed fixed on the darkened windows. “A daughter doesn’t vanish from her father’s house without a word. It’s disrespect.”

James leaned against the mantel, his voice cool and even. “Arguing won’t change the fact she’s not here.”

On the chaise, Amelia curled into herself, her eyes brimming, her lips trembling. “It’s because of me,” she whispered, fragile as porcelain.

Lorraine dropped to her side instantly, arms wrapping tight as Amelia sagged against her. The girl looked soft, broken, pitiful—like one touch might shatter her. Lorraine held her tighter, clinging to the daughter who would still let her be “mother.”

Andrew’s tone flared sharp. “See? That’s what she wants. She wants Amelia to feel like she doesn’t belong.”

The front door opened.

Adeline stepped inside, her curls loose, fatigue written across her calm face. She set her bag down with care.

“Where have you been?” Andrew snapped.

“At school. Then dinner.” Her voice was steady.

“Dinner?” Lorraine’s fury broke through her relief. “At this hour?”

Adeline met her gaze. “If you cared where I was, you might’ve asked me. Maybe even for my number.”

The silence that followed pressed down like lead.

“And since you’ll ask why I’m late,” she added evenly, “I took the bus. Because no one thought to arrange transportation. Not that I needed it, but don’t act surprised that it took time.”

Andrew scoffed. “So now it’s our fault?”

“I’m not blaming you,” Adeline said quietly. “I’m telling you the truth. You just don’t want to hear it.”

Amelia rose suddenly, tears sliding freely now, her body trembling as if she’d collapse without Lorraine’s arms. She looked pitiful, fragile, almost saintly in her despair.

Adeline rolled her eyes, tired of the charade. “Oh, enough already. This isn’t about you, Amelia. Not everything is. You’ve led them around with your tears, and they let you. But don’t drag me into it.”

Lorraine’s hand flew to her mouth. Malcolm’s brows snapped together. Andrew’s fists curled tighter.

Brandon muttered under his breath, “Finally.”

Inside, Amelia’s thoughts twisted sharp: So what if it’s an act? If I stop, I lose them. I won’t let her take them from me.

With a sudden cry, Amelia broke free from Lorraine’s arms, fled through the kitchen, and flung open the back door. The slam rattled the walls as she vanished into the dark.

“Amelia!” Lorraine shouted, chasing after her, voice ragged. Malcolm followed quickly, anger stiff in his shoulders. Andrew stormed after them, shooting Adeline a glare hot with fury.

James lingered a moment longer, his eyes unreadable. “They should’ve known better,” he said quietly.

Adeline’s reply was soft, but iron threaded through it. “They never do.”

James left then too, footsteps fading with the others.

The house fell silent. The tick of the clock filled the foyer, each beat a reminder of how quickly they had scattered after Amelia.

Adeline stood alone for a long moment, then drew a breath and turned. Her steps on the staircase were slow, deliberate, each one echoing in the cavernous space. By the time she reached her room, she felt not relief but resignation, the familiar solitude wrapping around her like armor.

She closed the door gently behind her. The quiet wasn’t peace—it was survival.