Chapter 3

The drive back from the arena took over three hours. I floated above the back seat the whole way, listening to them talk.

Mom was in the passenger seat doing the math, scrolling through a banking app on her phone, muttering numbers under her breath.

"Coaching fees are going up twenty percent next season. Add in the new choreography, and we're looking at another twenty thousand at least." She turned to Dad. "Can you talk to your company about picking up more shifts?"

"I'm already working on it." Dad kept his eyes on the road, his voice flat with exhaustion. "If it's still not enough, we can transfer what's in Wren's college savings account. It's not like she's getting into anywhere great."

"Her grades are nothing special anyway. College would just be throwing money away," Mom said. "Soren's different. Soren's going pro."

I was in the top ten of my class last semester. But they didn't know that. The report card had been mailed home and sat there unopened, right next to that letter from the art exhibition.

Soren spoke up from the back. "Mom, when we get home, can we clear out the attic and turn it into a training room? I need space for off-ice drills. My room's too small."

"Sure," Mom said without even thinking about it. "We'll move Wren down to the basement. She doesn't need much space anyway."

"What about all her drawings?" Soren asked.

"Toss them. They're not worth anything."

Listening to this, it hit me that it had always been like this, even when I was alive. They made decisions about me without me in the room. They never needed me there for that.

As they got closer to home, a notification popped up on Mom's phone. She tapped it open and glanced at it.

"Wren's school sent an email saying she didn't show up on Friday. No absence report filed either. This kid is getting out of hand — the second we leave the house, she starts cutting class."

It didn't cross anyone's mind to wonder why a girl who had never missed a single day of school would suddenly stop showing up.

"Seventeen years old and still this irresponsible." Dad shook his head. "When we get back, she's going to learn what consequences look like."

The car turned the last corner.

Two police cruisers sat in front of the house, red and blue lights flashing through the dusk. A white ambulance was parked beside them. Yellow tape stretched across the front yard, and a handful of neighbors stood on the grass just beyond it, watching.

Mom was the first one out of the car.

"Officer, this is my house. What's going on?"

The officer turned to face her. "Are you Wren's family?"

"I'm her mother. What has she done now?" Mom folded her arms across her chest, her face tight with anger. "I knew we shouldn't have left her home alone. This kid has been nothing but trouble since the day she was born — where is she? Tell her to get out here."

Nothing but trouble since the day she was born.

When had I ever caused trouble? Every single thing I'd done in my life was to make sure I never became a burden to anyone.

The officer didn't respond. He simply stepped to the side.

The front door was wide open. Two paramedics came out carrying a stretcher. There was no equipment attached to it — no IV, no monitor. Just a black bag, zipped all the way to the top.

Mom stared at that bag. Her mouth was still open, but the last word she'd been saying seemed to die somewhere in her throat.

"What is that?" Dad walked up beside her.

"When did you leave the house?" the officer asked.

"Thursday night," Dad said, his voice starting to tighten. "My daughter was home — she was here the whole time — what the hell happened?"

"Your neighbors noticed the house had been completely dark for several days. No one had been seen going in or out. They knocked and got no answer, so they called it in for a welfare check."

The officer paused.

"After we forced entry, we found a body in the upstairs bathroom."