If I Were Her

Chapter 4

The drive home was quiet at first, the soft hum of the tires on the asphalt almost louder than the words left unsaid. Iris stared out the window, tracing the patterns of light and shadow on the street, feeling the unfamiliar weight of the new clothes pressed against her skin. Her mother hummed softly at stoplights, tapping her fingers nervously against the steering wheel.

“I thought… maybe you’d like to go see the campus next week,” her mother said, voice almost casual.

Iris’s stomach clenched. The mention of college wasn’t new, it had been hovering over her for days —but somehow saying it out loud now made it impossible to ignore.

“Mom… I just got home,” Iris said softly, the words barely rising above the hum of the engine.

Her mother glanced at her through the rearview mirror, smile faltering just a fraction before she quickly readjusted it. “I know, sweetheart. But you can’t be idle all through your stay, besides it’s second year, you’d only be four to a flat, and one of them will be Ava…I think you’d like it.”

Iris’s chest tightened. Four to a flat. The words were meant to reassure her, but they sounded like a countdown, a gentle push she wasn’t ready for. She didn’t want to leave again—she didn’t want to feel like she had to perform the part of a “normal” person all over again, to a different set of strangers with their set standards after just stepping back into a home that felt foreign.

Her mother reached over, touching her hand briefly. “I just… want you to have something steady, something that’s yours. You’ve been through so much.”

Iris nodded mutely, pretending to understand, though the lump in her throat wouldn’t let her speak.

By the time they pulled into the driveway, the house felt heavier than usual, like it had been holding its breath all day. Iris barely noticed, too caught up in the ache of being measured and reshaped without consent.

She carried her new clothes up the porch and into the sitting room, stiff fabric brushing against her fingers. She paused halfway, noticing the quiet of the house. The hum of the air conditioning, the faint smell of coffee lingering on the counter, and the distant ticking of a clock—small details that she was beginning to get familiar to

Her father walked into the sitting room, His expression was unreadable, stiff in a tailored shirt, a briefcase in one hand, his phone in the other . She gave a quiet, tentative greeting.

“Hey… Dad,” she murmured.

Thomas’s eyes flicked down at the shopping bag she was carrying. The light nylon fabric shifted, revealing the soft, structured clothes they had bought—corporate-style shirts, neat trousers. His jaw tightened.

Iris didn’t notice. She continued down the hallway, a few steps past the sitting room, brushing the wall with her fingertips. She hadn’t reached her room yet.

Her father waited only a second before turning to her mother, voice low but clipped, like a whip

“You can’t just shove her into this life,” he said, voice rising. “She’s been home a week, and you’re already planning college, clothes, schedules…”

Her mother stiffened, words rapid and brittle:

“Thomas, she needs a life! She needs to be normal. She can’t just… drift back into nothing.”

“She doesn’t need college so fast. She doesn’t need—” His voice caught, tight with frustration. “She doesn’t need a dorm full of strangers!”

“You’re so scared of letting go! She’s alive, Thomas! She’s here! And we’re supposed to just… watch her, until she maybe gets frustrated with us and decides that strangers are better parents that we who birthed her?”

Iris stopped a few steps down the hallway, her chest tight, listening. Her fingers unconsciously gripped the bag tighter, knuckles whitening. Her stomach twisted at every rising syllable.

“You still blame me,” her mother whispered, almost cracking.

“Enough with your self pity! I blame both of us,” he replied, sharp, guttural, laden with years of unspoken resentment.

The shouting paused briefly, heavy and tense.

Then, the door creaked.

Ava stepped inside, just returning from the front of the estate. She had the lotion in her hand, her mind still buzzing from the encounter with Ethan—his distracted expression, the lie he had told her so easily.

“Mom? Dad? What’s going on?” she asked lightly, trying to probe without stepping too close.

Thomas’s eyes snapped to her, the edge in his voice cutting through the room:

“I can’t deal with you at the moment. Go to your room and stay there, like you always should.”

____________

Ava froze, the words slamming into her like a physical blow. Hurt, stunned, confused, she glanced toward Iris in the hallway. The younger sister had paused mid-step, watching, silent and observing.

Ava backed up slightly, jaw tight, and retreated to her room. She didn’t speak, didn’t confront, just left the door cracked, listening to the residual tension hanging in the sitting room.

She sank onto her bed, the lotion clutched loosely in her hand. Her thoughts went back to earlier…the extra time Ethan had taken, the way he had avoided her eyes.

“Did you… meet someone? You took quite a while, thought you’d lost your way or something ” she had asked casually, hoping for a teasing laugh.

He had lied.

Smoothly, perfectly, right to her face. She had felt it instantly—the subtle shift in his posture, the hesitation in his words. She had held it in, but now, alone in her room, it pressed heavily against her chest.

And then the memory of her father’s harsh words hit her again. The sting of being dismissed, the sharpness of the sentence—it was all too much. Ava exhaled slowly, folding herself into her bedcovers. She wanted to check on Iris, to ask what she had heard, but she couldn’t. Not yet.

________________

Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, staring at the faint blue glow of the screen. Home was quiet, almost too quiet. His father had been overbearing as usual, questioning everything he did that day: why he was out late, why he didn’t check in, why he looked tired. And his mother… she had been slumped on the couch, staring at nothing, the TV murmuring in the background, barely alive in her own skin.

Ethan gently adjusted her blanket, noticing the untouched dinner on the counter, the half-full glass of water, the untouched medication beside it. He didn’t know how to fix her. He didn’t know how to explain to Ava that not every family was neat lines and bright smiles. She wouldn’t understand.

She couldn’t.

He tried to distract himself with his phone, scrolling through Snapchat like it could erase the tension pressing into his chest.

Then, among the suggested friends:

Iris Sloane

The name froze him. Ava’s last name too, the face vaguely familiar but not quite. He knew instantly who it was.

His rational mind screamed

Don’t

Absolutely don’t.

He set the phone down, but the glow of it seemed to pull him back. Seconds later, he picked it up.

A tap.

Friend request sent.

He stared at the screen, stomach knotting, mind racing, heart insisting it was wrong—and yet, some small, ungovernable part of him didn’t regret it at all.

_____________________

Iris sat on her bed hours later, the room dark except for the faint glow of her phone. A notification pinged softly.

Friend Request: Ethan Sinclair

She stared at it, fingers hovering. Not accept. Not ignore.

Just… staring.

Feeling the shift beneath her feet, subtle but undeniable, as if a new current had begun to run through her world.

And somewhere in that quiet, fragile moment, she understood that her life was gonna take a drastic turn, for better or worse? she couldn’t say.