The Girl in the Mansion

A deeply emotional story about finding where you truly belong, even when home feels conditional

Chapter One: The Dollhouse

I still remember the way that dollhouse smelled—like fresh paint and new dreams.

I was five years old, standing in my bedroom doorway, unable to believe what I was seeing. The dollhouse was taller than me, which wasn’t saying much even then, but it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Three stories of perfect Victorian details, tiny chandeliers that actually lit up, wallpaper with roses so small you had to squint to see them.

Aunt Judith stood behind me, her hand warm on my shoulder. “You earned this, sweetheart. That voice of yours… you were magnificent today.”

The singing competition had been terrifying. I’d stood on that stage, spotlights burning my eyes, my voice shaking on the first few notes. But then I closed my eyes and pretended I was singing just for her—for Aunt Judith, who’d stayed up three nights in a row helping me practice, who’d held my hand in the car on the way there.

When they called my name as the winner, I’d searched the crowd for her face. And when I found it, she was crying. Actually crying. For me.

“Do you really like it?” she asked, and there was something in her voice—something fragile and hopeful—that made my chest feel tight.

“I love it,” I whispered, and I meant it with every cell in my five-year-old body.

That night, I fell asleep on the floor next to my dollhouse, arranging and rearranging the tiny family inside. A mother, a father, two daughters. I kept moving them around, trying to figure out where everyone belonged.

I woke up to the sound of wood splintering.

Riri stood over my dollhouse with a baseball bat, her face twisted into something ugly and satisfied. She was eight years old and already knew exactly how to break things that mattered.

“Riri, stop!” I screamed, but she didn’t stop. She brought the bat down again and again until my beautiful dollhouse was just pieces, just broken dreams scattered across my bedroom floor.

I didn’t cry. Not then. I’d learned early that tears only made Riri smile wider.

Aunt Judith found us twenty minutes later—me sitting silent in the wreckage, Riri in her room pretending to be asleep.

“Oh, Isabelle…” Aunt Judith’s voice cracked as she knelt beside me. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get you another one, okay? An even better one.”

But I didn’t want another one. I wanted the one that was special, the one I’d earned. I wanted my cousin to love me instead of hate me. I wanted to understand why being chosen made me somehow less than the daughter who was born.

That night, lying in bed with the dollhouse pieces in a trash bag by my door, I pulled out my most precious possession—a photograph so worn the edges had gone soft. My mother smiled up at me, young and beautiful, holding baby-me like I was the most important thing in the world.

I traced her face with my finger and whispered, “Did you love me? Really love me?”

The photo didn’t answer. It never did.

Chapter Two: Short Girl Problems

You know what nobody tells you about being short? It’s not just about reaching high shelves or looking younger than you are. It’s about being invisible.

By fifth grade, I’d stopped growing completely. Four-foot-eleven. That was it. That was all I got.

I watched my classmates shoot up around me—girls who’d been my height in September were looking down at me by Christmas. Boys I used to see eye-to-eye with suddenly had to crane their necks to talk to me.

Except they stopped talking to me.

The nicknames started small. “Tiny.” “Fun-size.” “Pixie.” Some people meant them affectionately, I think. But when you hear them enough, when every single day someone comments on your height like it’s the only interesting thing about you, it stops feeling affectionate.

I started eating lunch in the library. Not because I was a loner or antisocial—I just couldn’t stand another conversation about my height. Another joke. Another person asking if I’d tried drinking more milk, like I hadn’t already tried everything.

The library was quiet. Safe. The books on the highest shelves didn’t judge me for needing a step stool.

That’s where I was when Aunt Judith found me one day, curled into the window seat with my worn photograph.

“Isabelle? Honey, why aren’t you with your friends?”

I didn’t know how to tell her that I didn’t really have friends anymore. That feeling different made me build walls around myself. That some days I felt so frustrated with my body that I wanted to scream.

“I’m fine. Just wanted some quiet.”

She sat down next to me, and I could see her trying to figure out what to say. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? You’re like my daughter—”

There it was. That word. Like.

“I know, Aunt Judith.”

She pulled me into a hug, and I let myself sink into it, breathing in her expensive perfume. She smelled like safety. But even in her arms, that word echoed: like, like, like.

Not daughter. Like daughter.

I glanced at her. New girl. I’d seen her in homeroom but hadn’t talked to her yet. “Nothing.”

“Liar. Come on, we’re going on rides.”

“I can’t. I’m not tall enough.”

She looked at me like I’d just said the dumbest thing in the world. “Says who?”

“Says the height requirement stick they measure you with?”

“Well, that’s a stupid rule. Come on.”

Before I could argue, she was dragging me toward the ride. And when we got to the front of the line and the attendant started to stop us, Daphne didn’t even hesitate.

“She’s with me. I’m her older sister, and I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

The lie was so confident, so immediate, that the attendant just shrugged and let us through.

On the ride, as we climbed higher and higher, I turned to her. “Why did you do that?”

She grinned at me, completely unbothered. “Because stupid rules are meant to be broken, Short Stack. Also, you looked sad, and I hate when people look sad.”

“Short Stack?”

“Too much? I can workshop it.”

I laughed for the first time in weeks. “No, it’s… it’s actually perfect.”

That’s how Daphne became my best friend. My person. The sister I’d always needed.

Chapter Three: Flying

There’s this moment in gymnastics—right between when you leave the ground and when you land—where you’re just… floating.

Time stops. Gravity forgets about you for half a second. In that moment, nothing else matters. Not your height, not your cousin’s cruelty, not the ache of wondering if you’re truly loved. You’re just flying.

I found gymnastics by accident. Or maybe it found me.

Seventh grade. I got accepted into this elite summer camp for high-achieving students—full scholarship because of my grades. Riri had thrown a fit that lasted three days.

“Of course they gave it to the charity case. Pity scholarships are so trendy right now.”

But Aunt Judith? Aunt Judith threw me a party. Bought me a car—not to drive, obviously, but for the driver to pick me up in. She wanted everyone to know she was proud of me.

The day Riri tried to chase me down to “teach me a lesson,” I didn’t run. I spun away from her so smoothly that she crashed into the couch while I landed perfectly on the other side of the room.

Aunt Judith had been watching from the doorway. Her eyes went wide.

“Where did you learn to move like that?”

“I… I don’t know. I just did it.”

“Your mother,” she said softly, and something in her voice made me freeze. “Your mother was a gymnast. A really talented one.”

The words hit me like electricity. “What?”

“She competed nationally. She was beautiful when she performed—like she could defy gravity.” Aunt Judith smiled, but it was sad. “You have her gift, Isabelle. I should have seen it sooner.”

That week, she enrolled me in the best gymnastics program in the state.

And I was good. No—I was better than good. It was like my body had been waiting its whole life for this. Every flip, every twist, every impossible move felt natural. Felt right.

My coaches were stunned. “You’re a natural. We’ve never seen anyone pick this up so fast.”

But I knew the truth. This wasn’t just talent. This was connection. Every time I flew through the air, I felt closer to the mother I’d never known. Every perfect landing was proof that she’d left me something—something that couldn’t be taken away.

The medals started piling up. Regional champion. State champion. Nationals qualifier.

Aunt Judith came to every single competition. She’d sit in the front row, her hands clutched together, and when I’d land my routine, she’d be the first one on her feet, cheering louder than anyone.

Those moments—seeing her face light up with pride—made everything else bearable.

But Riri… Riri got worse.

The vandalism incident happened on a Friday night. Aunt Judith’s phone rang at 2 AM, and I heard her voice through my bedroom wall—first shocked, then angry, then just… tired.

They’d arrested Riri and her friends for spray-painting the principal’s house and egging half the neighborhood’s cars.

I came downstairs to find Aunt Judith sitting in the kitchen, still in her nightgown, staring at nothing.

“How much?” I asked quietly.

“Twelve thousand dollars. For damages and fines.” She looked at me, and I saw something I’d never seen before in her eyes—defeat. “I don’t understand, Isabelle. What did I do wrong?”

I wanted to tell her she hadn’t done anything wrong. That some people are just… broken. But I couldn’t find the words.

The fight between Aunt Judith and Riri shook the whole house.

“Why can’t you just be normal? Why can’t you try?”

“Normal? You mean like Isabelle? Perfect grades, perfect gymnastics, perfect little orphan story for you to brag about?”

“She’s not—don’t talk about her like that.”

“Why not? It’s true! You love her more than me. You’ve always loved her more!”

I was listening from the stairs, and the words cut deeper than Riri probably intended. Because part of me had always wondered the same thing. If Aunt Judith loved me more than Riri, did that mean she didn’t love me enough?

“That’s not true, Riri. I love you—”

“No, you don’t. You’re disappointed in me every single day. I can see it in your eyes. Well, congratulations—you finally got the perfect daughter you always wanted. I’m done trying to compete with a ghost.”

Two weeks later, Riri was on a plane to a boarding school in France.

Aunt Judith cried that night. I heard her through the walls, soft and broken. And I realized something that hurt worse than any of Riri’s cruelty: Aunt Judith would always love Riri more, because love isn’t about deserving. It’s about blood. About biology. About something I would never have with her, no matter how many medals I won.

I pulled out my worn photograph and studied my mother’s face, trying to find answers in her smile.

“Did you know this would be so hard? Did you know what you were leaving me to?”

The photo stayed silent.

But the next morning, I went to practice anyway. Because in the air, between the leaving and the landing, I could pretend none of it mattered.

I could pretend I was enough.

Chapter Four: The Woman at the Door

Daphne’s house always smelled like stress and broken promises.

Her dad was the kind of man who took up space without actually being present. He’d disappear for days, then show up acting like nothing happened, spinning stories about “business opportunities” that never materialized.

“He says he has another family. Like he’s proud of it or something. Just another one of his lies.”

Her mom worked herself to exhaustion trying to keep them afloat—two jobs, sometimes three. I’d see her at the grocery store at 11 PM, eyes hollow with fatigue, counting pennies at the checkout.

“Just move in with me. Aunt Judith already said yes. She likes you.”

“She’d like anyone compared to the disaster she gave birth to,” Daphne would joke, but I could see the longing in her eyes. She loved my mansion not because it was fancy, but because it was quiet. Peaceful. Safe.

Then Aunt Judith announced her business trip.

“One month. It’s a huge opportunity for the company. You’re responsible enough to manage, and Daphne can stay with you. You two will have fun, right?”

I nodded, but inside I was panicking. A month without her felt impossible.

The night before she left, I crawled into bed with her like I used to when I was little.

“You okay, sweetheart?” she murmured, half-asleep.

“I’m going to miss you.”

She pulled me closer. “I’ll miss you too. But I’ll call every night, I promise. And I’ll be back before you know it.”

I wanted to tell her not to go. To stay with me, to choose me, to prove that I mattered more than her business. But I couldn’t. Because asking for love always felt like begging.

Something about her felt off, but I couldn’t place it. “Wait here. I’ll get my purse.”

“Could I just… could I come in for a moment? Just to rest? I’ve been walking since morning.”

I hesitated. Every instinct screamed no. But she looked so tired, so desperate.

“Okay. Just for a minute.”

Biggest mistake of my life.

I was halfway up the stairs when I remembered my purse was actually downstairs. I turned back just in time to see her grab a crystal decoration from the entry table and shove it into her bag.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

She froze. Daphne burst through the door at my shout, grocery bags hitting the floor. She grabbed the woman’s wrist before I could even process what was happening.

“Stop!” Daphne shouted, wrestling with her.

I ran down and yanked off the sunglasses and scarf.

Daphne’s mother stared back at us.

The silence was deafening. Then Daphne made a sound I’ll never forget—something between a sob and a scream.

“Mom? What… how could you?”

Her mother’s face crumpled. “Daph, sweetie, I can explain—”

“You’re stealing from my best friend’s house!”

“I’m not a thief! I just—these rich people, they don’t even notice when things go missing. And we need the money—”

“Stop.” My voice came out harder than I intended. “Just stop talking and leave.”

“Isabelle, please—”

“Get. Out.”

After she left, Daphne stood in the middle of my foyer, shaking. I tried to hug her, but she pulled away.

“I need to go home.”

“Daph, no. Stay here. We’ll figure this out—”

“I can’t. I just… I need to go.”

She left without looking back.

That night, I got a text: Things are bad here. I need a few days. I’m sorry.

The mansion felt haunted after that. Too big, too empty, too full of people who’d left.

Chapter Five: When the Sky Falls

Tuesday started normal.

I woke up, made breakfast, practiced my routine in the home gym. I called Aunt Judith at our usual time—8 AM her time, 11 AM mine. The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

Voicemail.

I tried again an hour later. Same thing.

By 2 PM, my hands were shaking as I dialed her assistant’s number.

“Emma? It’s Isabelle. I can’t reach Aunt Judith. Is everything okay?”

The pause on the other end lasted a lifetime.

“Isabelle… we’ve been trying to reach you. The jet… we lost contact this morning. Search and rescue is looking, but—”

The rest of her words turned into white noise.

Lost contact. Search and rescue. But.

I’d heard these words before, in a different life, about a different mother. Except I’d been too young to understand then. Now I was old enough to know exactly what they meant.

People don’t just disappear. Planes don’t just vanish. Except sometimes they do, and the people you love don’t come back.

I don’t remember hanging up the phone. I don’t remember walking to my room. I only remember sitting on my floor, clutching my worn photograph, the edges so soft they felt like fabric.

My birth mother smiled up at me, frozen in time, forever young and present and there. Until she wasn’t.

“Not again. Please, not again.”

But prayers don’t stop planes from falling. Love doesn’t make people immortal.

I stayed on that floor all day, all night. Daphne was dealing with her own family crisis and couldn’t come. I was alone in a mansion that suddenly felt like a mausoleum.

The next morning, the doorbell rang.

I dragged myself downstairs, hoping against hope it would be someone with news. Good news. Any news.

Instead, I found Riri standing on the doorstep, designer luggage at her feet, looking like she’d just returned from vacation.

“Miss me, cousin?”

Chapter Six: The Guest

I stared at Riri, my brain struggling to process her presence.

“What are you doing here?”

She brushed past me, her heels clicking on the marble floor. “I live here, remember? And I heard about Mom. Figured you could use the support.”

Support. The word was laughable coming from her.

“How did you even hear?”

“I’m her daughter, Isabelle. Her actual daughter. Her assistant called me right after they called you.” She said it like a challenge. Like a reminder of where I stood in the family hierarchy.

“School—”

“Last year. I wasn’t feeling it anyway. France was boring.” She waved her hand dismissively. “But don’t worry, I brought entertainment.”

A guy walked in behind her, and my heart stopped.

He looked exactly like Daphne. Same dark eyes, same sharp cheekbones, same way of holding himself like he was apologizing for taking up space.

“This is Nathan. My… whatever he is. Trial boyfriend. Still deciding if I’ll keep him.”

Nathan’s eyes met mine for a split second. There was something there—recognition, maybe? Or warning?

“Nice to meet you.”

“You don’t talk to him. Ever. For any reason. He’s mine.”

“What if he’s literally dying—”

“Then you call me. If he’s coughing, you call me. If he’s breathing weird, you call me. The only person Nathan needs is me. Got it?”

I looked at Nathan again. He was staring at the floor, jaw tight.

“What are you hiding, Riri?”

She smiled—all teeth, no warmth. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Over the next few days, I watched Riri treat Nathan like a servant. She’d wake him up at 5 AM to make her elaborate breakfasts. She’d have him carry stacks of shopping bags while she walked empty-handed. She’d insult him in front of people and then laugh when he couldn’t respond.

And he took it. All of it. Never fighting back, never defending himself.

I tried to corner him multiple times, but he’d walk away before I could finish a sentence.

Then one morning, I saw him struggling with an impossibly tall stack of pancakes, whipped cream, and other ridiculous breakfast demands. Papers were tucked under his arm, and he was losing his balance.

I grabbed the toppling food just before it fell. “I’ve got it.”

“Thank you.”

“Nathan, listen—”

“And I have you,” Riri appeared out of nowhere. “Thanks for the help, cousin. Nathan and I have important things to do.”

As he walked away, a paper fluttered from his grip. I picked it up.

It was an ID card. His face stared back at me above printed text: Happy 18th Birthday, Alan Davidson.

Eighteen.

But Riri was seventeen, in her last year of high school. How were they in the same grade if he was already an adult?

Nothing made sense. But I knew one thing for certain: the boy following Riri around wasn’t Nathan.

And Daphne’s last name was Davidson.

Chapter Seven: The Chocolate Bathtub Strikes Back

I needed Daphne. Desperately.

I showed up at her house unannounced, and chaos greeted me before I even reached the door. Shouting. Crashes. The sound of something breaking.

Daphne opened the door like this was completely normal. “Oh, hey. Perfect timing. Come watch the show.”

Inside, her mom was wielding a kitchen spoon like a weapon while her dad lounged on the couch, playing with Daphne’s prize iPad—the one she’d won in a science competition.

“You spent my last twenty dollars on a lottery ticket!”

“It’s called vision, woman! You don’t get rich playing it safe! Besides, when I win big, I’m moving in with my other family.”

“I’ll steal your kidney while you sleep!”

“She’s getting creative. Last week she threatened to sell his toenails on eBay.”

“Is this… always…?”

“Pretty much. Come on, let’s go to the park before someone calls the cops again.”

We ended up on the rusty swings at the neighborhood playground, the chains squeaking with every movement.

“Your family’s insane.”

“Yours is missing.” She said it gently, but it still stung.

“Yeah.”

We swung in silence for a while. Then: “Daph, there’s this guy at my house. He’s with Riri, but he looks exactly like you. And his ID says his name is Alan Davidson.”

She stopped swinging. “What?”

I told her everything—about Nathan, or Alan, about how Riri controlled him, about the age discrepancy.

“Davidson is my last name. My dad’s always going on about his ‘other family.’ What if… what if it’s not just lies?”

“What if you have a brother?”

We stared at each other as the possibility settled between us.

“We need to find out. And I know exactly how.”

“Your mom is still gone. How can you even think about—”

“I can do whatever I want in my house, shorty. And this is my house.”

Fine. If she wanted a party, she’d get one.

Daphne and I spent three days building our costumes. Mine was an elaborate bathtub costume, covered head-to-toe in fake dripping chocolate. A golden nameplate on the front read: “Riri’s Royal Spa: Where Luxury Meets Chocolate.”

Daphne’s was even better—a giant cardboard mirror strapped to her chest. When you pressed a button, it announced in a robotic voice: “You are beautiful, Riri. You are the most beautiful person ever created. All hail Riri.”

We walked into the party and the room went silent.

Then someone started laughing. Then everyone was laughing.

Riri’s face went purple. “ISABELLE!”

“You said you wanted that chocolate bathtub. I’m just making your dreams come true!”

“I know it’s you under there because of your hobbit height! Maids! Throw this walking hot tub out of my house!”

I got dragged to my room, but it was worth it. Through my window, I watched Daphne navigate the party, making her way toward Nathan/Alan.

I saw the moment she reached him. Saw her study his face. Saw her entire body go rigid with recognition.

Then she was running toward my room, and I knew.

She burst through my door, breathless. “That’s him. That’s my brother. I know it.”

Chapter Eight: Truth Comes Out

The party ended with screaming.

We heard it from upstairs—Riri’s voice, shrill with fury, and Nathan/Alan’s voice, quieter but strained.

Daphne and I rushed to the stairs, staying hidden where we could see but not be seen.

“How could you spill juice on the most important person here? She’s a modeling agent! I invited her specifically to impress her, and you ruined everything!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Sorry doesn’t fix this! She’s never going to pick me now!”

“She wasn’t going to pick you anyway.”

The words were so quiet I almost didn’t hear them. But Riri did.

She went very, very still. “What did you say?”

“Nothing. I just—”

“No. Say it again.”

Nathan/Alan’s hands clenched into fists. Something in him seemed to snap. “I said she wasn’t going to pick you anyway. You’re shallow and cruel and you treat everyone around you like garbage. Why would anyone want to work with you?”

For a second, I thought Riri might cry. Instead, she lunged at him.

He shoved her away—not hard, just defensive—and she stumbled backward, tripping on the carpet. Her head hit the floor with a sickening crack.

Everything stopped.

“Riri!” I ran down the stairs, Daphne right behind me.

Riri wasn’t moving. Nathan stood frozen, his hands shaking.

“I didn’t mean—I just pushed her away—I didn’t—”

“Call 911,” I told Daphne, then turned to Nathan. “It was an accident. She was attacking you.”

But his eyes were wild with panic. “I shouldn’t have—God, what did I do?”

At the hospital, a gum-chewing nurse with bright red hair gave us updates that gave me whiplash.

“She’s stable.”

“Thank God—”

“I mean, not getting worse. Also not getting better. She’s basically frozen. Like a statue. Pretty dramatic, honestly.”

“Can we see her?”

“Oh sure, especially since it might be the last time—”

“What?!”

“The last time you have to wait! The doctor’s with her now. She’ll be fine. Probably.”

I wanted to strangle this nurse.

When we finally got into Riri’s room, she was awake and pointing at Nathan like she was identifying a criminal.

“He pushed me! He tried to kill me!”

Before anyone could process that, I stepped forward. “I did it. I pushed you.”

Every eye in the room turned to me.

“What?” Riri looked genuinely confused.

“You heard me. We were fighting, and I pushed you. Nathan wasn’t even there.”

“Why would you—”

“Because you’re a terrible person and someone needs to stand up to you.”

The nurse called the police, who questioned me and ultimately gave me a warning before leaving. Riri knew I was lying, but she was too shocked to argue.

Nathan pulled me aside later, his eyes red. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I had a feeling I should.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m nobody. But you… who are you?”

He glanced at Daphne, who’d been watching us from across the hall. Something passed between them—recognition, longing, years of separation.

“My name is Alan. And I think… I think she’s my sister.”

Chapter Nine: Finding Aunt Judith

With Riri temporarily out of the picture, I threw myself into the search for Aunt Judith.

The police had given up. “We’ve done everything we can, Miss. After this long…”

They didn’t finish the sentence. They didn’t have to.

So I went to the media. I did interviews. I organized protests. I made myself visible and loud and impossible to ignore.

Daphne stood beside me at every event. Even while dealing with her own family drama—her newly discovered brother, her father’s lies, her mother’s crimes—she showed up for me.

“You’re the sister of my heart. I’m not going anywhere.”

Meanwhile, Riri recovered and went back to partying like nothing had happened. While I begged the public for help finding her mother, she posted photos of herself at clubs, designer bags piled around her.

The cruelty of it broke something in me.

Alan found me practicing gymnastics one afternoon—something I’d avoided since Aunt Judith disappeared.

“You’re good.”

“I used to be.”

“You still are.”

I landed a dismount, my injured leg protesting. “Why are you here, Alan?”

He sat down, and the whole story came out. The rich mother who’d fallen for the wrong man. The grandfather who’d never believed his son-in-law existed, who’d cut Alan out of the family fortune. The cousins who’d inherited everything while Alan got nothing.

“My dad is Daphne’s dad. But my grandfather thinks I’m lying. He thinks I made up a father to try to claim inheritance. I need proof. I need him to confess, to show up, to be real for once in his pathetic life.”

“That’s why you’re with Riri.”

“She’s rich, connected, clueless. Perfect cover while I searched for him. My cousins think I’m just another spoiled kid in her circle. She thinks I’m a poor nobody trying to marry up. Both versions protect me.”

“And you found him.”

“Yeah. In the form of the world’s worst father.” He laughed bitterly. “But hey, at least now I know why Daphne turned out so normal. She had to survive him.”

Alan handed over the money without blinking. Just like that, Daphne had a brother, and Alan had his proof.

But Alan wasn’t done helping. “I think Riri knows something about your aunt. We should search her room.”

Chapter Ten: The Secret

We waited until Riri left for another party, then slipped into her room like thieves.

It was chaos—designer clothes everywhere, makeup scattered across surfaces, half-packed suitcases. We searched everywhere: closet, bathroom, desk drawers.

Nothing.

“Maybe I was wrong.”

Then I heard it. The sound of heels clicking on marble.

Riri stood in the doorway, eating Nutella straight from the jar with a spoon, watching us with an expression I couldn’t read.

“Looking for something?”

My heart stopped. But instead of yelling, instead of calling security, she just… sighed.

“If you’re trying to find Mom, I already did.”

The room tilted.

“What?”

“I hired private investigators. Top tier. Found her three weeks ago.” She took another spoonful of Nutella, and I noticed her hand was shaking. “She’s on some island. Plane crashed, she survived, lost her memory. She’s been in a hospital. A really nice one. I’ve been paying for everything.”

I couldn’t breathe. “Three weeks? You’ve known for THREE WEEKS?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve been searching! The whole town has been helping! I’ve been on the news, begging for information, and you—”

“I know what you’ve been doing, Isabelle. You’ve been very dedicated. Very touching. Everyone’s so impressed by the devoted daughter.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

She finally looked at me, and what I saw in her eyes made my chest ache. Not hatred. Not cruelty. Just… emptiness.

“Because she never loved me. Not really. She only ever called when I was in trouble—which was constantly, by the way. The rest of the time? It was always about you. Your competitions, your grades, your potential. Perfect Isabelle, who could do no wrong.”

“That’s not—”

“It’s true, and you know it. I found her. I made sure she was safe. I paid for the best care.” She scribbled something on a piece of paper and threw it at me. “Here’s the hospital info. She’s your problem now. I’m done.”

She grabbed a pre-packed suitcase—like she’d been planning this exit for days—and walked toward the door.

“Riri, wait—”

She paused, her back to me. “You won. Congratulations. You finally got the mother you always wanted, and I finally get to stop competing with a ghost.”

Then she was gone.

I stood there holding the paper with shaking hands while Daphne and Alan watched in stunned silence.

“She knew. She knew this whole time, and she didn’t say anything because…”

Because love isn’t simple. Because family is complicated. Because sometimes the people who hurt us are hurting worse than we ever knew.

I looked down at the paper. At the hospital address that would bring Aunt Judith back to me.

And I thought about Riri, alone in whatever city she’d flee to next, convinced that being unloved was easier than risking love again.

Chapter Eleven: Coming Home

The hospital was three hours away.

Daphne drove while I sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, my worn photograph clutched in my hands. Alan sat in the back, quiet and supportive.

“What if she doesn’t remember me?”

“Then you remind her. That’s what family does.”

Aunt Judith was in a private room on the fourth floor. The doctor met us outside, explaining about the memory loss, the treatment, the gradual recovery.

“She’s doing remarkably well, considering. But her memories are… fragmentary. Some things are crystal clear. Others are just gone.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

“She’s been asking about her daughters.”

That word—daughters, plural—gave me hope.

I pushed open the door, and there she was.

She looked smaller than I remembered. Fragile. Her hair was shorter, cut practically for hospital life. But her eyes—her eyes were the same.

She looked up when I entered, and I watched her face cycle through confusion, concentration, and then—finally—recognition.

“Isabelle.”

My name. She remembered my name.

I crossed the room in three steps and threw my arms around her, and suddenly I was crying—huge, gulping sobs that I’d been holding in for weeks.

“I thought I lost you. I thought you were gone forever, and I didn’t get to tell you—I didn’t get to say—”

“Shh, sweetheart. I’m here. I’m okay.”

She pulled back to look at me, her hands cupping my face. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a photograph—worn and faded, the edges soft from being touched too many times.

It was the three of us. Aunt Judith, Riri, and me. Taken years ago, before everything got so complicated.

“I kept this with me. Even when I couldn’t remember names or places, I knew these faces mattered. This is my family.”

Her finger traced over Riri’s face. “Where’s your older sister?”

Not cousin. Not my biological daughter.

Sister.

“She’s… she’s away right now.”

Aunt Judith nodded, then looked back at me. “You’re my daughter, Isabelle. I know that. I feel it.” She pressed my hand to her heart. “Right here. You’re mine.”

Not “like” my daughter. Not “chosen” daughter.

Just: daughter.

I pulled out my own worn photograph—my birth mother holding infant-me, both of us frozen in that moment of perfect love.

“I’ve been carrying this my whole life. Trying to remember her. Trying to feel connected to someone who wanted me.”

Aunt Judith took the photo gently, studying it. “She’s beautiful. And she loved you so much.”

“But I never knew her.”

“No. But you know me.” She placed both photographs side by side in my hand. “And I know you. That’s not biology, Isabelle. That’s choice. Every single day, I chose you. I choose you still.”

I looked at the two photos—my birth mother and my real mother, past and present, loss and love.

“I choose you too.”

We brought Aunt Judith home two days later. The mansion didn’t feel haunted anymore. Daphne and Alan were there, helping her navigate the rooms she’d forgotten. Teaching her how to make her favorite tea. Filling the space with laughter and life.

That night, I tucked both photographs into my journal—my birth mother’s smile and the picture of our family. Both were part of my story. Both mattered.

But for the first time in my life, I wasn’t just the girl in the photograph. I wasn’t just the charity case or the chosen daughter or the girl who stopped growing.

I was Isabelle. Daughter. Sister. Friend. Gymnast. Fighter.

I was home.