Chapter 3

I settled into the house, like an invisible ghost.

Robert Henderson liked quiet, so much so that even the housekeepers walked on tiptoes.

Mom tried every trick in the book to please Robert.

Cooking soups, giving massages, watching those boring financial news channels with him.

She lived in this house like a high-class housekeeper.

As for me, except for meal times, I rarely left my room.

The storage room had been tidied up nicely.

Though cluttered with old furniture, the sunlight was truly wonderful.

I often pulled up a chair by the window and soaked in the sun all afternoon, like an old woman.

Sometimes Robert Henderson would pass my door.

Seeing me sunbathing, he’d pause, but never spoke.

His gaze was strange, like he was looking at a kindred spirit.

One afternoon during lunch.

The dining table was silent, save for the faint clinking of forks against plates.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated.

In the quiet living room, it sounded like an alarming siren.

Robert Henderson frowned.

Mom immediately put down her fork and glared at me.

“Who told you to bring your phone to the table? No manners!”

“Hang up!”

I took out my phone and glanced at the screen.

It was Chloe.

I pressed decline.

Less than two seconds later, it vibrated again.

I declined again.

The third time it vibrated, Robert Henderson put down his fork.

“Answer it,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s giving me a headache.”

I took my phone to the balcony.

As soon as I answered, Chloe’s voice exploded through the receiver.

“Jade, are you doing this on purpose?”

“Did you take the passbook?”

I held the phone away from my ear.

“What passbook?”

“Dad says the family passbook is gone, and he’s sure you stole it!”

“There’s five thousand dollars in there!”

I chuckled. Those five thousand dollars were what I’d earned washing dishes last summer.

“That’s my money,” I said.

“Even if you earned it, it’s still family money!” Chloe said, her voice dripping with self-righteousness.

“Dad can’t buy cigarettes now, and he’s throwing a fit at home!”

“Transfer the money right away, or I’ll tell Mom you stole it!”

From the other end of the line, I heard things crashing and Dad’s angry curses.

“I should’ve strangled you when you were born!”

Those sounds, even from hundreds of miles away, still made me feel suffocated.

“I didn’t steal it,” I said calmly.

“That was my medical fund.”

“Medical fund? What kind of sickness do you have?” Chloe scoffed.

“Stop playing the victim!”

“Transfer the money now, or I’ll come to your school and tell everyone you don’t care if your own dad dies!”

I looked out at the garden from the balcony. The flowers bloomed vividly, red as blood.

“Chloe.”

“You chose your path; you have to walk it, even if you’re crawling.”

“Don’t bother me.”

With that, I hung up and blocked her number.

As I turned, I felt a warm gush from my nose.

I reached up and touched it – my hand was covered in blood.

I fumbled for a tissue from my pocket and pressed it to my nose.

Tilting my head back, I tried to stop the bleeding.

The blood flowed rapidly, trickling down my throat into my stomach, making me nauseous.

I rushed into the downstairs restroom.

Looking in the mirror, I saw bright red blood staining half my face.

I turned on the faucet and frantically washed it away.

“What are you doing?”

A voice suddenly came from behind me.

I froze. Through the mirror, I saw Robert Henderson standing in the doorway.

He looked at my face, streaked with water and blood, his eyes deep and unreadable.

I roughly wiped my face.

“Just a nosebleed,” I mumbled, lowering my head. “Probably from the heat.”

Robert Henderson didn’t say anything. He walked over and handed me a clean hand towel.

“Wipe that off.”

I took the towel and pressed it to my nose.

“Thank you, Mr. Henderson.”

He looked at the faint pink stains in the sink that hadn’t been rinsed away yet.

“Does this happen often?”

“Occasionally.” I lied. The nosebleeds had been happening more and more frequently lately.

Robert Henderson stared at me for a moment.

“You should see a doctor,” he said.

“No need. It’s an old problem,” I replied, lowering my head, trying to slip past him.

“Jade.” He stopped me.

“You don’t have to live so cautiously in this house.”

“Your mom is your mom; you are you.”

I froze, looking up at him.

His expression was still detached, but there was a hint of something in his eyes I didn’t understand.

“If you’re not feeling well, say something.”

“Stop trying to be tough. Nobody’s giving you a prize for enduring all this pain alone.”

With that, he turned and left, leaving me alone in the restroom.

The towel in my hand carried a faint scent of pine.

It was his scent, mixed with a faint whisper of decay.