The pain was a physical blow, a tearing agony deep in my abdomen. An ovarian cyst had just ruptured. But my parents, my brother, and my fiancé were all at a party, celebrating my sister Faith’s college graduation.

I was in a hospital bed, needing a family member’s signature for emergency surgery, but every call I made went straight to voicemail or was hung up on instantly.

A moment later, a text from my fiancé, Garrett Prescott, lit up my phone screen.

"Willow, don't be so dramatic. Today is Faith's big day. Whatever it is, deal with it after the party."

I set the phone down and signed the consent form myself.

This wasn't the first time they had chosen my sister, Faith, over me. But this time, something inside me didn't just break. It shattered.

I wouldn’t let their favoritism hurt me ever again. Instead, I’d become the perfect, obedient daughter they always wanted.

They would think I’d finally learned my place, never suspecting I was already planning my escape.

————————

1

For three days, my phone remained dark. Not one call, not one text from my family.

I didn't reach out, either. For the first time in years, I stopped refreshing their social media, stopped searching for any sign that they were thinking of me.

I just lay in that hospital bed, dragging my weakened, post-surgery body to follow-up appointments and paying the medical bills myself.

On the day of my discharge, I told no one. I quietly packed my bag, gritting my teeth against the searing pain in my abdomen, and hobbled home.

I pushed open the front door, and the sound of cheerful laughter from the living room died abruptly.

They were all there. My fiancé, Garrett, had his arm draped casually over Faith’s shoulders as they sat close together on the sofa.

The moment he saw me, he snatched his hand back as if he’d been burned, a guilty smile flickering across his face. "Willow, you're back! Where have you been these past few days?"

My brother, Mason Vaughn, let out a cold snort.

"Where do you think she's been? Off pouting in a corner because we didn't beg her to come to Faith's graduation party."

"She just can't stand to see Faith get any attention. Always has to be a killjoy."

I said nothing, just turned and headed for my room.

Mason looked surprised that I didn’t fight back. Normally, one accusation of selfishness from him was enough to send me spiraling into desperate, tearful explanations.

But this time, I was silent.

My mother approached, holding out a milkshake.

"Willow, sweetie, we were all so wrapped up in Faith's graduation the other day, we missed your calls. You're not mad at us, are you?" She pressed a peanut butter milkshake into my hand.

My heart was numb, but a dull ache throbbed in its place.

I’m deathly allergic to peanuts. But Faith loves them.

So, the pantry was always full of peanut-flavored snacks and drinks. I’d told them a hundred times, but no one ever remembered.

I tried to hand the cup back to my mother, taking a small step away. "I'm not mad. I just want to go to my room."

The moment I turned, a loud bang echoed through the house.

My father had shot to his feet, slamming his hand on the coffee table. He roared, "Is that a long face I see the second you walk in the door? Your mother apologized and even got you your favorite drink!"

"What is this attitude? We have spoiled you rotten!"

My chest tightened until it hurt to breathe.

Through a blur of tears, I took the cup from my mother’s hand and downed it in one long swallow.

Then, I set the empty cup down gently, wiped my eyes, and met my father’s gaze with an unsettling calm. "Faith is the one who likes peanut butter. I'm allergic."

"But it's okay. I drank it. Can I go to my room now?"

"Willow! Why didn't you say you were allergic? Who told you to drink it? Why must you be so difficult!" my mother shrieked, slapping my back in a panic.

My father looked embarrassed but quickly became defensive. "Well, you should have said something!"

"You're always so high-maintenance. Nothing like Faith, who at least knows how to be pleasant."

From the sofa, Faith’s voice chimed in. "Dad, don't be so hard on Willow. You'll hurt her feelings."

Her tone was gentle, but I could see the glint of triumph in her eyes.

This was Faith’s favorite game: using my supposed flaws to burnish her own halo. She had to compete with me for everything, and she would never rest until she felt she had won.

I should have been heartbroken, but my heart was a hollow ache. The humiliation barely registered.

"I'm sorry," I said. "It won't happen again."

As the words left my mouth, a stunned silence fell over the room. Everyone just stared at me.

My sudden obedience caught them all off guard. After a tense silence, my father cleared his throat. "That's more like it."

"We're a family. There's nothing that can't be talked over."

"Everything I say is for your own good."

"Yes, I know." I nodded, a vacant smile on my face.

Once it was clear I wasn't going to cause a scene, the tension drained from the room and their attention snapped right back to Faith.

I paused for a moment, then turned to go upstairs.

But just as my foot touched the first step, a hand closed around my wrist.

It was Garrett. He’d followed me.

He pulled me close, his warm breath tickling my ear as he whispered, "Are you really not mad?"

His gentle tone made my eyes sting.

A fresh wave of grief threatened to overwhelm me, but I just shook my head, a lump in my throat making it impossible to speak.

Garrett, however, let out a sigh of relief. "I knew you'd understand. You're always so reasonable, you never sweat the small stuff."

"Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you about…" He hesitated, his gaze shifting away from me.

"We need to adjust our wedding plans. I promised your sister I'd help with her senior project—it's a large-scale event design. So, I was thinking—"

He took a breath. "What if we switched our dream Napa Valley vineyard wedding to a large hotel wedding here in Los Angeles, designed by her?"

"The invitations haven't gone out yet, and it's just a wedding. Changing the venue isn't a big deal," he said with a gentle laugh, his eyes twinkling with what he clearly mistook for tenderness.

My heart turned to ice. The flicker of warmth I'd felt from his brief concern now seemed pathetic.

After being thrown aside so many times, what foolish part of me still expected anything resembling love from them?

When I didn’t respond, Garrett dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. "Come on, Willow. This senior project is a huge deal for Faith. We're her family. We have to support her."

"Besides, you love a big party, don't you? Think of it as a surprise for her."

"Okay," I replied, my voice flat and devoid of life.

Garrett blinked, taken aback. "What did you say?"

I let out a long, slow breath. "I said I agree. We'll cancel the wedding."

"Cancel? Who said anything about canceling? I said change the plans. We can't just cancel the wedding," he corrected, his brow furrowed in confusion.

I looked down, a bitter smile twisting my lips.

What was the difference? As long as Faith was around, she’d never let our wedding happen. She was consumed with jealousy—she wanted everything I had. I’d known it since we were children.

No matter how hard I fought, I could never win.

The family's blatant favoritism was her weapon, and she used it to keep me pinned down.

Now, even my fiancé was on her side.

My eyes were burning, and a familiar itch began to prickle across my skin.

The peanut butter milkshake was starting to work.

I gave a slight nod and turned to head upstairs. I had an EpiPen in my room, and I had to get to it before the reaction got worse.

"Are you mad I'm getting to use your wedding for my project?" Faith’s voice, dripping with fake innocence, floated up from behind me.

I ignored her and kept walking.

This was her classic move. All Faith had to do was squeeze out a few crocodile tears, and no matter what I did, the whole family would rush to her defense.

Sure enough, Mason was the first to lash out. "Enough, Willow! Didn't you hear Faith talking to you?"

"One minute you say you're not mad, the next you're giving everyone the cold shoulder. Is that any way to treat your sister?"

I didn't answer him. His baseless accusations were the soundtrack of my childhood; they had long ago lost their power to hurt me.

But just as I reached the second-floor landing, my arm was seized from behind, and a sharp pain shot through me.

Mason yanked me back so hard I stumbled off the stairs and collapsed onto the floor. "Faith just graduated! Show some respect and stop ignoring her!"

I hit the ground hard. The impact sent a sharp, grinding pain through my knee.

Garrett frowned. "Willow, I'm the one who decided to change the plans. This has nothing to do with Faith. If you're unhappy, be mad at me. Don't take it out on her."

Sprawled on the floor, the sharp, grinding pain in my knee was nothing compared to the crushing ache in my chest.

"Don't be mad at Willow," Faith said, dabbing the corner of her eye with a tissue. "It's all my fault. I shouldn't have used her wedding for my project. If I had just chosen a different topic, none of this would have happened."

Through my blurry, tear-filled vision, I saw the tiny, cold smirk playing on her lips.

"What are you talking about? This is for your career. The wedding she planned was too small anyway. This isn't on you," Mason said dismissively.

He glared down at me, his face a mask of impatience. "You love throwing tantrums, don't you? Fine. You can have one all by yourself."

Mason hauled me up from the floor and shoved me into the basement home theater beside the stairs.

Panic flared in my chest. I scrambled for the doorknob, but before my fingers could grasp it, I heard the heavy click of the lock from the other side.

He had locked me in.

"Stay in there," Mason's voice came through the door, cold and muffled. "You can come out when you've learned how to behave."

"No! Please, let me out!" I screamed, pounding on the door. "I'm allergic to peanuts! I need my EpiPen!"

But his voice was already moving away, calling for Faith.

"I booked us a table at that new Michelin-starred place. It's getting late, we should head out!" he announced cheerfully.

"But Willow…"

"She'll be fine. A few hours in there will teach her a lesson," Mason replied.

"Yeah, her temper is out of control," my father chimed in. "A little time-out might do her some good. I'll bring her back some of her favorite dessert later."

"Let's go, Garrett," my mother added. "A few hours won't hurt her."

In an instant, sheer terror consumed me. I slammed my fists against the thick, soundproof door, screaming, "I'm not angry anymore! I'm sorry! I'll apologize to Faith! Just let me out! Please, I can't breathe! I'm going to die in here!"

My voice grew hoarse, turning into desperate, gasping sobs, but the house had already fallen silent.

I collapsed to the floor. The itching had spread from my back to my face, and a terrifying tightness was closing around my throat.

My parents watched me drink that milkshake. They knew I was allergic. And still, they forgot.

They remembered Faith’s favorite upscale restaurant but forgot that I had ingested what could be a lethal dose of peanuts only minutes ago.

Desperation forced me back to my feet. I twisted the doorknob with all my strength, but it was locked solid from the outside.

I frantically searched my pockets, but my phone must have fallen out when Mason grabbed me.

An angry red rash was now blooming across my body. My face was swelling, my vision blurring. Worse, every breath was a desperate, painful struggle.

If I didn't get out, I was going to die in this theater.

As I groped around in the dark, searching for anything to pry the lock open, my fingers brushed against my phone, which had skittered into a corner.

A wave of relief washed over me as my trembling hands closed around it.

But, true to form, my parents, my brother, and Garrett didn't answer my calls.

Then, a text from Mason lit up the screen.

"Don't even think about joining us. You'll just ruin Faith's celebration."

Tears I could no longer feel streamed from my swelling eyes. How could I have ever held out any hope for them?

Finally, my trembling fingers dialed 911.

Every second stretched into an eternity. My airway was constricting, and each gasp for air was a monumental effort. I barely held on, managing only to rasp out my address to the operator.

Just as the home theater door was finally broken down, my world faded to black.