The Ghost Who Came Home

Six years after the Forrester family had coerced me into divorcing my husband to make room for their preferred, real daughter, I saw them.
Liam Prescott, my ex-husband, and my brother, Grant Forrester, walking straight toward me across the wide lawn of the city park.
Liam held our seven-year-old daughter, Phoebe, while he looked at the quick, stylized sketch I was working on. He shed the sharp edges hed once possessed, sat on the small stool in front of my easel, and scanned the twenty dollars I charged for a sitting.
Since youre back in the States, why didnt you reach out?
He looked genuinely exhausted, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His eyes, framed by his thin glasses, landed on me with a desolate, unmistakable sense of regret.
I never meant to drive you away, Anya.
I held my palette, my voice flat.
Sir, what style of caricature are you looking for?
1
I treated them like strangers.
But my brother, Grant, was as aggressively volatile as ever. He kicked my easel over, his eyes burning with familiar contempt.
Stop pretending you dont know us. Sera has already forgiven you for that mess with her scholarship and your miscarriage.
He spat the word out like poison.
Now, shes being dragged into a scandal about an affair, and it could wreck her Gold Prize nomination. Come back with us, clear her name, and well allow you back in the house.
You havent seen your daughter in six years. Dont tell me you dont miss her.
After all, you knelt outside our estate for ninety-nine days just to fight for custody, didnt you?
He stood over me, triumphant.
But my daughter had already forgotten how to call me Mommy.
Her eyes fell on the loosely wrapped bandage around my wrist, and her face twisted in childish disgust.
Daddy, Uncle Grant, her hands are gross.
Sera Aunties hands are way prettier.
I remembered the sound of the bone crackingthe intentional, brutal shattering of my hand. I tightened my jaw and wrapped the bandage back into a tight cuff.
I wont go back, and I wont clear anything up for you.
I gave up on my daughter a long time ago.
The days Id spent swallowing blood and tears with every bite of foodthey were long buried.
Liams gaze lingered on the scars hidden beneath the bandage. He took a step forward, as if to touch me.
All right, Anya. Stop throwing this tantrum.
Dont say things like you dont want your daughter. Shes the baby you carried for ten months.
A bitter, familiar taste filled my mouth.
What did ten months matter? It never stacked up against Seras sweet, calculated whispers.
Grants brows knitted together. He kicked the small tin I used as a tip jar, his voice laced with impatience.
Why waste time talking to her? Just take her. If we werent worried about the press dragging Sera through the mud, who would willingly come to this dump?
Its filthy.
The deep-seated arrogance of the wealthy Forrester heir was still palpable.
I bent down to pick up the tip jar, which had rolled into a patch of muddy earth. My voice remained flat.
Im not coming with you.
That was all it took for Grant to ignite like a firecracker, the explosion a painful echo in my chest.
Anya Wells, dont push your luck! Do you have some back-alley dog-boyfriend here you cant leave? You can barely make a few bucks a day. I dont believe you can live like thisyoure probably running some kind of dirty hustle to get by.
At the accusation, Liams initially soft expression turned dark. He seemed to agree with my brother.
He grabbed my wrist with one hand and began to drag me toward the park exit. A sharp, spreading pain flared across my skin.
The tip jar tumbled to the ground again, scattering ten and fifty dollar bills.
Liam, let go of me! I am not going back!
He ignored me completely.
Grant strode ahead, deliberately stepping on the paper money, grinding the bills into the dirt.
A flash of orange fur burst from the flower bushes.
Hiss!
The stray cat I fed, Rusty, clawed at Liams arm.
Seizing the chance, I yanked my arm free. But as I turned, Grants foot slammed into my knee.
I collapsed with a loud thud, hitting the dirt road.
On one side, I was down. On the other, the little cat was sent flying several feet.
I struggled to get up, large tears splashing onto the ground.
Rusty!
I managed a single step before both Liam and Grant cornered me and dragged me toward the SUV. My struggles were pointless.
The stray cat lay in a pool of blood. The money Id saved to buy my grave plot was smeared in the mud.
It felt exactly like six years ago.
I was shoved into the back seat of the familiar SUV. My daughter, Phoebe, strapped into her safety seat, immediately began to wail when she saw me.
Daddy, I dont want to sit next to this ugly monster! She smells!
Liam glanced into the rearview mirror, putting on a show of scolding her.
Phoebe, thats not polite. Thats your mother.
Phoebe wrinkled her nose and huffed. She spoke just loud enough for all of us to hear: She is not my mom. Only Sera Auntie deserves to be my mom.
Grant scoffed with derision.
Liam tightened his grip on the steering wheel and attempted to explain.
Phoebe just isnt used to you, Anya. Shell warm up.
I turned my head to look out the window, my tone detached.
Its fine. I was never her mother. Wasnt that exactly what you told me?
Six years ago, also in this car, when Phoebe was barely a toddler, Liam had said it directly to my face.
Anya Wells, do you honestly think youre fit to be a mother in your current state?
Phoebe is a child, she doesnt understand. If she wants to call Sera Mom, let her. Do you have to make a scene in front of her? Liams furious expression flashed in my mind.
We drove the rest of the way in silence.
The house I had once meticulously decorated was unrecognizable.
The delicate Honeysuckle bushes I had planted in the garden were gone, replaced by rows of aggressive red roses. The swing beneath the old oak tree was removed, and the tree itself had been cut down.
Everything was changed, a scene of desolation.
I looked around with cold indifference and lowered my eyes. I followed them inside.
Liam opened a small door in a forgotten corner. The room was thick with dust, and cobwebs lined the ceiling. He covered his mouth and coughed, waving away the dust motes floating in the air.
Your old room is Seras music studio now. Just manage here for a while.
In a few weeks, once all this is sorted
I cut him off. Its fine. I dont need anything else.
My only true destination was to be a handful of ashes. The condition of the room made no difference to me.
Grant hated my aloof composure, as if it implied they had all wronged me. He rolled his eyes and scoffed.
Liam, let her stay here. Its been years, and her dramatic act still hasn't worn off.
Liam sighed heavily but didnt contradict him.
Stay if you want to.
I simply hummed in acknowledgement and closed the door.
I couldnt decipher the look in Liams eyes. He was the one who drove me out of the country, wasn't he? Why the show of guilt now?
I stopped trying to understand.
Slumping onto the narrow twin bed, a sudden, brutal wave of pain crashed over me. My face went white, and cold sweat soaked the pillow.
Knock. Knock.
The sound jarred me awake. I forced myself to open the door. Grant stood there, holding a thin, cheap throw blanket.
Who are you trying to play the victim for with that ghastly look? he blurted out when he saw my pale face.
He tossed the blanket at my feet. Here. Dont get sick and then blame it on Sera.
Im warning you, dont try anything funny, and dont go near Sera. You know exactly why we brought you back.
The familiar words of threat washed over me. I had heard this warning countless times. From initial defiance, I had become numb. I knew how to respond now.
Got it.
I slammed the door shut.
I lay back down, the blanket remaining on the floor. A person who was about to die had no reason to fear a cold.
In the morning, a pounding on the door woke me.
Miss Wells, are you awake? Do you still think youre the princess of the house?
The stiff wooden bed and unfamiliar room meant I hadnt slept well.
Im awake.
I opened the door to see the familiar, frigid face of Mrs. Olsen, the nanny. Her expression was one of ingrained disgust.
Then get to the dining room. Dont hold up everyone just for you.
Six years hadn't softened her. Mrs. Olsen had always cared for Sera like a daughter, viewing me as an intruder. When I was first found, shed once thrown dishwater on me, convinced I should have stayed lost and never come back to take Seras place.
I didnt have the energy to argue. The pain from my cancer was relentless. Every breath felt like shattered glass.
In the dining room, Sera was seated between Liam and Phoebe. She was blushing prettily as Liam fed her a piece of his sandwich.
Liam, darling.
She saw me and her eyes darted away in a brief moment of panic.
Sister, youre back. Are you mad at me? I was forced to marry Liam, I really thought
Screech!
The sound of my chair scraping against the floor was painfully loud.
Not at all. You said you two were soulmates, didnt you? Why would I be mad?
Seras eyes immediately welled up. Liam slammed his cutlery onto the table, his face clouding over.
Anya Wells, if you dont want to eat, then dont.
I allowed myself a cold, mocking smile. I sat down, ignoring them all.
I took a bite of a sandwich, and the sweet, cloying taste of the mayonnaise and tomato sauce made my stomach churn violently. I pushed the chair away abruptly and rushed to the restroom, where I dry-heaved over the toilet.
Sister, do you think she could be pregnant? Seras suggestive voice drifted in from behind me.
I splashed icy water on my face, letting the shock ripple through me.
She was still a master of twisting the narrative. She ruined my hand because she was jealous of my talent. Now she wanted to ruin my reputation by suggesting I was pregnant out of wedlock. Her methods were transparent, but people believed her.
Sure enough, upon hearing Seras words, Liam frowned, a hint of repulsion in his eyes.
Anya Wells, a woman should maintain some decorum.
A bitter laugh caught in my throat. Decorum? Did that word even apply to me? Where was their sense of decorum when they threw me to the wolves that night?
It has nothing to do with you.
Liam scoffed angrily, throwing out a single word before leaving.
Fine.
I returned to the table and sat back down.
Sister, now that youre back, why dont you perform with me at my concert in a few days? Sera looked at me expectantly. We used to be called the Duet Stars.
I froze, my gaze falling on the hands perpetually wrapped in bandages. These hands would never hold a violin again.
Before I could hide the fleeting look of despair, Phoebes clear voice rang out.
Sera Auntie, this ugly monster doesnt deserve to play with you. I saw her hand last timeits super gross.
The innocent voice felt like a needle in my heart. Yes, I cant play anymore. My voice trembled slightly.
No one knew the breakdown I had suffered when I realized my hand was permanently ruined. I had wanted to die right then.
But I remembered the words of Mama Elena, the director of my old orphanage.
Everyone dies, sooner or later. But if you can come home for a peaceful rest, then youll be reborn into a happy family.
I believed her. I wanted a family that truly loved me.
I washed endless stacks of dishes until I earned enough for a ticket home. Back in the States, I worked as a street artist. I had my eye on a beautiful spot beneath an old Magnolia tree for my grave. I was just five hundred dollars short.
Oh, Im so sorry, Sister. I I completely forgot. Seras apologetic voice registered in my ear.
Its fine, Sera. You dont need to apologize. Her inability to play is her own doing. Liams cold words followed.
My heart was so scarred that any harsh word, no matter how cruel, was absorbed without reaction.
Stay here and keep to yourself for the next few days. Ill come for you when we need you. Liam gave me a final threat. And behave. You dont want to see St. Judes torn down, do you?
The name of my old orphanage made my chest clench. Liam still knew exactly where to twist the knife.
Understood.

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