Her smile was practiced, the corners of her mouth held high by years of social expectation.

My father stood by the stone fireplace, talking to a man in a navy blazer.

He laughed, a loud, booming sound that easily carried over the music.

Then I saw Chloe.

She was sitting on the edge of the pool, her bare feet dangling in the glowing water.

Her white silk dress was bunched up around her thighs, and she was laughing at something a boy had just said.

She looked perfect, untouched by any of the darkness that had defined my life.

I walked toward the patio, my boots making a distinct thudding sound on the stones.

A few guests looked up and nodded at me, but I didn’t nod back.

My focus was entirely on the outdoor kitchen where my mother stood.

I walked up to her, stopping just two feet away.

The woman she was talking to blinked, sensing the sudden change in air pressure between us.

“Maya, darling,” my mother said, her voice dropping into its familiar, soothing register. “Where have you been? Your father was about to toast you both.”