Minutes passed, and I found myself staring at the gate, waiting. Maybe someone would come back. Maybe someone would sit with me.
But everyone was with Ginny.
They all left me in the house, wondering, 'Am I still part of this family?'
I cried until my body felt hollow like I'd drained every tear. Eventually, sleep sneaked in like a thief, taking my sadness away for the night.
Morning came too fast; a voice shook me from whatever dreamless sleep I had left. "Miss, it's time for school, the first day."
It was the maid's voice, not Mom's. Normally, it was Mom waking me up, so I blinked. I mumbled, "Yeah, I'm up," and dragged myself out of bed.
I went through my morning routine on autopilot—shower, brush my teeth, throw on whatever clothes I could find—before heading downstairs.
When I reached the kitchen, my stomach dropped.
Mom was feeding Ginny, spoon by spoon, like she was still a toddler.
It wasn't just that. Ginny was sitting in my seat, all snug like she'd been there forever.
Charlie sat beside her, his arm casually around the back of her chair. "Eat up. You're too skinny," he said, ruffling her hair like she was his actual sister.
They didn't even look up when I walked in.