Chapter 3: Family Tensions

Mom saw more than she ever let on. She’d watch me over the rim of her mug, lips pressed tight, but never said much. Her way of showing worry was ladling out soup—classic Campbell’s, sometimes homemade, always with extra carrots. She said it kept our spirits up, but it tasted mostly like regret and unspoken words.

It was rare, my stepdad making real eye contact. Usually, he’d mumble behind the sports section or disappear into his home office. Seeing Mason and me side by side, he’d nod with what almost passed for approval.

He asked, voice stiff as always, "Want to come work at the company?" Like he was offering me a chance to join some secret club. Even Mason looked up, blinking in surprise.

It was more attention than he’d given me all year. For a moment, it felt like maybe, just maybe, I belonged.

But the thought of leaving Mason and our strange, tangled little routine made my chest tighten. The house was a fortress of habits—his and mine—and I wasn’t ready to abandon it.

My voice shook, but I managed, "I need to think about it." Part of me hoped he’d insist, but he just nodded, like that was all he expected.

For once, he looked almost content. It was the closest we ever got to a family moment: awkward, forced, but real enough for a heartbeat.

That night, Mason stared through me as I set down his glass of water, eyes glazed and lost in some world I couldn’t enter. Something inside me hardened. I promised myself, quietly, that I’d hold onto what little power I had left.

By the time my first day at the office rolled around, things had already started to change. The busywork, the new faces, the endless emails—they wore me out, until I realized I didn’t have the energy to needle Mason the way I used to. The house grew quieter, and so did I.