Chapter 3: Goodbye, Georgia

When my mom found out I was leaving for Michigan with my dad, I was packing.

There were piles of sweaters and old jeans folded on my bed, the suitcase half-zipped and already too full. The air in the room was tight, heavy with the smell of last night’s fried chicken.

She stormed in and dumped all my neatly packed luggage onto the floor.

My clothes scattered across the worn carpet. Socks rolled under the bed. Mom’s face was flushed, her hands trembling with anger.

Like a madwoman, she screamed at me, calling me an ungrateful brat.

Her voice rattled the windows, loud enough for the neighbors to hear. The humiliation was sharp, sour in my stomach.

"I raised you all these years, and this is how you repay me? Why didn’t you go with him when we divorced?"

Madison fanned the flames from the side:

She was perched on the edge of my desk, flipping her hair and smirking. "Mom, I told you, she wouldn’t take your last name. She must have her own plans…"

Before she could finish, Mom snapped.

"What plans could she have? Following that useless father—does she really think she’ll have a good life like now?"

Back then, when Mom and Dad divorced, she insisted on taking both kids with her.

She’d packed us into the minivan, promising things would stay the same. But nothing did.

But in her eyes, there was only Madison.

The best food—Madison ate first.

I remember watching from the other side of the table, hunger twisting in my gut as she piled her plate high.

Pretty dresses—Madison picked first.

She’d twirl in front of the mirror, Mom snapping pictures. I’d wait my turn, knowing the leftovers would be handed to me, creased and already worn.

Only at mealtimes, after they were full, would Mom push the crusts of her grilled cheese onto my plate.

"Finish everything. Don’t waste food."

Over time, I grew heavier and heavier.

She grew more and more disgusted with me.

Her sighs got louder, her words sharper. I felt myself shrinking even as my body grew.

"How did two kids from the same family turn out so different?"

"I should never have had you. You’re such an embarrassment."

The words etched themselves into my memory, coloring every mirror I looked into.

Mom had favored Madison since we were kids.

Madison was pretty, got good grades, and most importantly, was talented and could charm anyone.

I was just a bookworm—awkward, boring, and fat. No one wanted to be friends with me.

I spent my afternoons at the library, surrounded by stacks of books and the hum of the AC. It was the one place I felt invisible and safe.

Chase was the first classmate to approach me on his own.

He’d slide into the seat next to me in English class, tapping his pencil and grinning like we were already friends.

I once thought he’d be my salvation.

But in the end, he left me standing in the rain.

That day, he asked me to meet him on the football field after school. I waited until evening classes started, but he never showed up.

The sky was gunmetal gray, drizzle soaking through my hoodie. I waited until the stadium lights flickered on, hope draining out with every minute.

When I got home, I found out Madison had twisted her ankle.

Chase was the one who carried her home.

I arrived as he was settling her gently onto the couch, her face theatrically twisted in pain.

When I arrived, he was carefully dabbing Neosporin on her foot.

He was so focused, he didn’t even notice me come in.

Madison spotted me and said pitifully:

Her voice was small, trembling, designed to make me feel like the intruder. "Chase was just helping me because I was hurt. You don’t mind, do you?"

I said nothing.

I just stood there, letting the silence stretch, my hands curled into fists.

She teared up again. "Sorry. Next time I’m hurt, I won’t bother Chase."

Mom came out of her room, saw Madison’s red eyes, didn’t even ask, just dragged me into my room and started yelling:

She didn’t even look at Chase—just zeroed in on me. The walls seemed to close in as she started up, her voice rising and falling like a siren.

"If you didn’t pester Chase every day, your sister wouldn’t have gotten hurt walking home alone!"

"Open your eyes and look at Chase. His eyes are full of your sister. You really think he likes you? He’s just playing with you."

"From now on, don’t talk to Chase anymore, do you hear me?"

I stared at her blankly. "But… Chase was the one who confessed to me first."

"They’re just a bickering couple, and you bought it?"

She looked me up and down, her face full of contempt. "Look at yourself, then look at your sister. Even a blind man wouldn’t choose you."

I don’t remember how I left that room.

I just remember, as soon as I stepped outside, I saw my dad rushing over, out of breath.

He was in his work boots, hair still dusted with sawdust, looking like he’d just run a marathon.

When I saw him, all sawdust and work boots, I wanted to run straight into his arms and never let go. In that moment, my tears fell uncontrollably.

Dad figured out what happened. His face turned purple with rage and he cursed at the top of his lungs.

He didn’t hold back. His voice thundered through the house, echoing down the street. It was the first time I’d seen him so furious.

Ignoring Mom’s protests, he took me with him and never looked back.

He grabbed my suitcase, threw it in the trunk, and we peeled out of the driveway, gravel spitting under the tires.

That was eight years ago.

A while ago, they called to say Chase and Madison were getting married.

The call was from Madison.

"Jenna, you and Dad should come back for my wedding. It wouldn’t be complete without you."

Her voice was syrupy-sweet, but I could practically see the Instagram post forming in her mind—Madison and her perfect sister, matching smiles for the world.

I was silent for a long time, then said, "Okay."

The silence stretched on the line before she hung up. I sat in the dark, phone still pressed to my ear, not sure what I felt.