Chapter 3: Shattered on the Porch

I pretended not to notice his lost expression. "If that’s all, I need to rest." My hand was already on the door, ready to shut him—and everything else—out.

Luke blocked the door with his hand. "Emma, you haven’t eaten. Go get something first, then rest." His palm flat against the wood, his college ring glinting in the porch light.

His kindness hurt more than anything. My chest ached with it.

I was so tired. "You don’t have to feel guilty. You don’t have to pretend to care about me." My voice sounded hollow, scraped raw from years of swallowing my hurt.

He got angry, his tone sharp. "I’m not pretending! I care about you. What are you even thinking?"

My eyes stung. I fought the tears. "If you cared, why would you say things that kill my appetite when you know I haven’t eaten? Or maybe you just forgot."

Luke just stared, speechless. In the end, all he could say was, "You always overthink."

"You’re at the Johnson house tonight because you were figuring out how to help Sophia take my place, right?" I spat the words out, daring him to deny it.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was I wasn’t included. Not considered. Not chosen.

The more I thought about it, the sadder I got. "You didn’t even bring my parents or brother into this. Didn’t even bring Sophia to talk to me. You’re careful with everyone else, but cruelest to me."

I couldn’t hold back anymore. The tears spilled over, twenty-three years’ worth, blurring everything.

My vision swam as I let go of the door and dropped to my knees. My knees hit the splintery wood hard, and I knew I’d be picking out tiny slivers for days.

Luke froze, shocked. He hovered, wanting to help but not knowing how.

"Emma Johnson, what are you doing!" Ethan’s voice boomed across the yard, loud enough to make Mrs. Perkins next door twitch her curtains.

I didn’t answer, just pleaded. "Luke, did I do something to you? Why go out of your way to humiliate me?"

Ethan grabbed my arm, yanking me up. Tears streamed down my face as I met his stormy glare.

"Ethan, I’m not marrying. Give Sophia the ring. Dad and Mom are hers, you’re all hers. I don’t want any of it anymore, okay?"

Ethan tossed his keys onto the porch railing with a frustrated clatter. "Emma, what kind of stunt are you pulling? If you don’t want to go through with it, just say so! Stop making a scene. Can’t you just be reasonable for once?"

I stared at him. "Am I not reasonable?"

The commotion brought Dad, Mom, and Sophia running. Car doors slammed, footsteps pounded the gravel—the whole family, gathering for the Emma Meltdown Show.

I looked at them, sobbing. "But I’ve been in so much pain. Mom would be sad if she knew, so I’ve kept it inside."

"My arms hurt, my chest hurts—everything hurts." The words came out raw.

But Mom didn’t come to hold me. She just stood there in her housecoat and slippers, arms crossed, mouth a hard line.

Dad lost it. "The doctor’s checked you a hundred times. You’re fine! You’re always making stuff up! When you were little, we felt bad for you, but now you’re just being ridiculous. Grow up!"

The pain in my head spiked, sharp and splitting.

I crouched, covering my head. The gravel dug into my palms, sharp and unforgiving.

They were right there. I could see the worry in their eyes. But no one moved. No one came.

In the end, Sophia stepped forward, pale and trembling in the porch light—she looked like the kind of girl who belonged in a hospital gown, not a prom dress—fragile and fading, the family’s glass figurine.

But Luke was the first to reach me, panic written all over his face. He gently pulled my hands away from my head.

"Emma, stop! Don’t hurt yourself!"

I looked down. I’d been yanking out my own hair without realizing it.

I wanted to explain, but the world spun. I fainted. As I drifted under again, the last thing I saw was that blue bottle, glowing like a lighthouse for lost souls.