Chapter 4: Broken Bonds and New Beginnings

I ran my fingers over the new fabric, thinking of all the secrets and sacrifices that had led us here. The Whitaker family, once the pride of Maple Heights, was now the town’s favorite cautionary tale. I wondered if Mrs. Whitaker would have done things differently, knowing how it would end.

Because of the luncheon, Savannah claimed to be ill and stayed home, but in fact she was grounded by Uncle Mark. Trevor came to me twice, hinting I should resume managing the household until Savannah "recovered". I looked at his wide eyes—how could he say such shameless words? Did he think of me as a servant? Was my effort for him taken for granted, or was it a problem if I didn’t contribute? I told him: "I don’t want to."

I watched his face twist in confusion, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for a reason, an excuse. I felt no guilt. For once, I was doing something for myself.

Now it was his turn to widen his eyes. "Why not?"

His voice was small, almost pleading. I almost felt sorry for him, but the feeling passed quickly.

I propped my chin: "Because I’m your sister."

I let the words hang in the air, daring him to argue. He stared at me, as if seeing me for the first time.

Trevor jumped up, slamming the table: "What kind of sister are you! Can’t even help with this!"

His anger was childish, petulant. I met his gaze, unflinching.

"I helped you for ten years, and you never saw me as your sister," I said, my voice flat but heavy with regret.

My voice was steady, almost cold. I watched the realization dawn on his face, the hurt giving way to anger.

Trevor kicked over a stool, pointing at me as if to vent everything. "You want me to see you as my sister? Did you ever treat me as a brother? You controlled everything—what I ate, where I went! I didn’t like sports, but you forced me to practice! Did you ever treat me as a brother? You just used me to show off your success!"

His words stung, but I refused to let them show. I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

After saying this, he panted heavily. I unconsciously straightened up, looking at him sadly. Was this why we grew apart? I spoke slowly: "I controlled your food because when you were little, greasy food made you sick... I controlled your movements because you once fell in the river and broke your leg riding. I didn’t want you to get hurt..."

I tried to explain, to bridge the gap between us, but I could see he wasn’t listening. The hurt in his eyes was too deep, the anger too fresh.

"Are you trying to stir things up again? I’ve said it a million times! Savannah never pushed me, Uncle Mark never messed with my bike, he wasn’t even home that day! They’re my only family, stop talking bad about them!"

Trevor angrily interrupted me. I clutched my chest, heavy as if weighed down by a thousand stones. Savannah and Uncle Mark were his only family, not me. Any criticism of them was stirring the pot. I sighed deeply, lowered my eyes, and said no more. After a moment, Trevor turned and left. Before leaving, he said coldly: "Uncle Mark has arranged a marriage for you. I was going to refuse, but now I see you’re a perfect match. Prepare yourself; the families will meet in two days."

His words echoed in the empty room, final and unyielding. I watched him go, feeling the last ties between us snap. I was free, but the freedom tasted like ashes.

The second branch must have racked their brains to choose a husband for me, finally picking the third son of the Jennings family. This Adam Jennings was famous, said to be clever and pretty as a child, like a toy soldier from an old FAO Schwarz Christmas window. Sadly, after a serious illness, his mind never matured. When I met him, he was squatting on the ground watching ants, unmoving like a tree stump. I squatted beside him. He saw me, grinned wide, his face smeared with dried snot. He asked, "Sister, do you like watching ants too?"

His innocence was disarming, a stark contrast to the scheming and plotting I’d grown used to. I smiled, settling beside him in the grass, letting the world slow down for a moment.

I nodded, telling Quinn to fetch a wet wipe, and answered, "I used to watch them as a kid; they’re small but they work together and get a lot done. I always admired that."

I watched the ants march in a perfect line, each one carrying more than its share. I wondered if I’d ever been that strong, that determined. Adam grinned, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

"Don’t you watch them when you grow up?"

His question was so earnest, it caught me off guard. I shook my head, the corners of my mouth turning up.

I smiled: "Grown-ups have lots to do, so I stopped."

I glanced at the sky, thinking of all the things I’d given up to grow up—childhood games, simple joys, the belief that family would always be there. Adam watched me, his eyes wide with curiosity.

"Ah, then growing up isn’t good."

He looked genuinely troubled, as if he’d just discovered a terrible secret. I patted his shoulder, reassuring.

"It’s fine, you don’t have to grow up."

The words slipped out before I could stop them. For a moment, I envied him, his world unclouded by betrayal and loss.

"But I want to grow up. Brother says only grown-ups can take care of Mom!"

His determination was touching, his loyalty fierce. I nodded, encouraging him.

"Hmm... then eat well, read more, and be happy every day, and you’ll grow up."

I ruffled his hair, making him giggle. Quinn handed me the wet wipe, and I gently cleaned his face. Adam beamed, his smile brighter than the sun.

"Okay! I’ll listen to sister!" Adam grinned again. Seeing his innocent look, my mood improved.

His joy was infectious, and for the first time in days, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. Maybe this marriage wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Then a voice came from behind us: "Brother, time to go back to Mom."

The voice was crisp, authoritative. I turned and saw Mr. Jennings, tall and composed, his eyes as cold as a December morning. He nodded at me, his expression unreadable.

I turned and met a pair of eyes as cold as a winter wind. I quickly stood and nodded: "Mr. Jennings."

His presence was commanding, but not unkind. I straightened my dress, suddenly self-conscious. Adam clung to my hand, looking between us.

"Brother!" Adam hurried to get up, but after squatting too long, he lost balance and fell forward. I instinctively reached out to catch him, but his momentum pulled me down too! Just as I thought we’d both fall, a strong force caught my waist, and my head hit something hard. "Miss, pardon me."

Mr. Jennings moved with surprising speed, catching us both before we hit the ground. His grip was firm but gentle, his voice low and steady. I looked up, my face inches from his, and felt a blush creep up my cheeks.

A gentle breath brushed my temple, and the voice calling me "miss" was like the cool, warm stream I waded in as a child. When I came to, I found myself in Mr. Jennings’ arms—not quite arms, as he stiffly held his right arm half-extended, fist clenched, far from my waist. The pose wasn’t graceful, but awkwardly distant. I glanced up at him; he didn’t look at me, staring straight at a tree, his left arm holding his brother tight. I almost wanted to laugh—he was so stiff, as if I’d molested him. "Miss, are you alright!" Quinn ran over, pulling me aside, checking me for injuries, glaring at Mr. Jennings like I was some kind of creep.

Quinn fussed over me, her hands fluttering like nervous birds. Mr. Jennings’ face turned red, his composure slipping for just a moment. Adam clung to his brother, whining softly.

Mr. Jennings’ face turned red. "Brother, dizzy, dizzy..."

Adam held his head, unsteady. Mr. Jennings quickly steadied him, fussing over him as Quinn did me, nervously checking him. Seeing their true brotherly affection, I couldn’t help but feel envious. "Sister, I’m dizzy, and it hurts..."

Adam, seeing me watching them, suddenly acted aggrieved, just like Trevor at age three or four. I couldn’t bear it, so I took the wet wipe from Quinn, wiped his face, and comforted him: "It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt." Adam grinned, repeating "doesn’t hurt, doesn’t hurt."

The moment passed, the tension easing. I glanced at Mr. Jennings, who offered a small, grateful nod. For a second, we understood each other perfectly—two outsiders doing their best to protect the people they loved.