Chapter 3

Elowen went back to her room and closed the door.

Floor-to-ceiling windows, south-facing, the best light. A double bed with silk sheets, and on the desk sat the lamp she'd bought last month — the shade her own choice, off-white with a hint of warm yellow.

She had grown up in this room. Done homework, dreamed, cried, laughed.

Now she was leaving it to Abigail.

She turned that fact over in her mind and found she felt nothing. No attachment at all.

She opened the wardrobe and started packing.

There wasn't much. A few changes of clothes, a few books, and some everyday things. Everything the Perez family had given her — the designer bags, the jewelry, the holiday gifts — she left exactly where it was, neatly arranged, as if it had never been touched.

Those things belonged to the Perez family. Not to her.

She took only one thing: an old picture frame.

Inside was a photo from her tenth birthday. Vaughn was holding her, Hazel stood beside them, all three of them smiling. That was before the DNA results came back. The smiles were real back then.

She placed the frame at the bottom of her suitcase, under the clothes, and zipped it shut.

She was about to leave when the door swung open.

"Sis, are you mad at me?"

Abigail stood in the doorway, eyes red, tears running down her face. She hurried in and grabbed Elowen's sleeve.

"I know it's my fault. If I hadn't come back, you wouldn't be leaving. I never wanted to take anything that belonged to you."

She cried with real feeling, her shoulders trembling slightly.

Elowen glanced down at the hand gripping her sleeve, then looked up and met Abigail's eyes, calm and steady.

In her past life, every time she saw Abigail cry, she'd felt a strange kind of guilt — as if she had caused those tears, as if she owed her something.

But now she just watched.

She watched every carefully arranged expression on Abigail's face, watched the exact moment the tears fell, watched the trembling shoulders and the bitten lip.

She had come back with the memories of her past life. She knew crying would work.

So she cried.

"Stop it."

Elowen gently pulled her hand free, her voice flat.

"You should be happy. Once I'm gone, this house is yours. No one to compete with, no one to fight."

Abigail froze. For just a moment, her expression went blank.

In her past life, Elowen would have been crying and apologizing by now.

"That's not what I meant, sis."

"But it's what I mean."

Elowen picked up her suitcase and walked past her, her voice quiet but steady.

"You got what you wanted. Take care of it."

She didn't look back.

A long silence followed. She was almost at the top of the stairs when she heard Abigail speak again — the trembling was gone from her voice now, replaced by something lower and flatter.

"Elowen. You've changed."

Elowen didn't slow down.

Yes. I have.

I died once. Of course, I've changed.

Downstairs, Vaughn and Hazel were waiting in the living room.

When they saw Elowen come down with her suitcase, Hazel stood up and reached out instinctively, as if to stop her — then let her hand hang in the air without making contact.

"Elowen."

Elowen stopped in front of her.

Hazel's eyes were red. Genuinely red. Not performed.

Elowen knew. Hazel wasn't without feeling for her. Eighteen years wasn't a number you could just erase. But when it came down to Abigail or Elowen, Hazel had made her choice. She chose blood. She chose her biological daughter.

That's just how people are. There was nothing to blame her for.

"The conditions there are rough," Hazel said quietly. "Are you sure about this? It's not too late to change your mind."

"I'm sure." Elowen paused. "Thank you, Mom. For everything, all these years."

The last time she would say that word.

Hazel's tears spilled over. She turned away and wiped her face with the back of her hand and said nothing more.

Vaughn stood with his hands in his pockets, watching her in silence. In the end, he said only two words: "Take care."

Elowen nodded and walked to the front door with her suitcase.

At two in the afternoon, an old farm tractor came slowly up the driveway of Perez Villa.

The engine noise stood out sharply on the quiet street. The exhaust pipe puffed black smoke, and the rust-spotted body rattled as it moved.

Abigail stood in the shadow of the porch and watched the tractor pull up to the gate, a slow smile spreading across her face.

So what if Elowen had acted strangely today?

Once she'd spent a few days over there, once the hardship wore her down and she couldn't take it anymore, she'd come back on her own.

And by then, there would be no place for her in the Perez family.

The man who climbed down from the tractor was middle-aged, wearing faded work pants with mud on the legs, his skin darkened by years in the sun.

"Excuse me, is this the home of Mr. Vaughn Perez?"

His accent was clearly British. His manner was polite.

"That's me," Vaughn said, looking him over.

"Hello, my name is Ryan Martin. I'm the butler for the Adams family. Mr. and Mrs. Adams sent me to bring Ms. Adams home."

"Butler?" Abigail let out a short laugh, just loud enough to be heard. "A farmhand is a farmhand. No need to dress it up."

Ryan smiled a little awkwardly and lifted a bulging burlap sack from the tractor, setting it on the ground.

"Mr. and Mrs. Adams grew these soybeans themselves — just harvested this season. They wanted to thank you both for everything you've done for Ms. Adams over the years. It's nothing fancy, but please accept it as a small token of their gratitude."

Hazel looked at the dirt-stained sack, her distaste barely hidden.

"That's alright. Take it back with you."

Ryan stood there, visibly uncomfortable.

Hazel pulled Elowen close and lowered her voice. "Elowen, they can only bring soybeans as a gift. Are you really sure about this?"

Elowen walked over to the sack, crouched down, and scooped up a handful of soybeans.

They were plump and firm, every one of them round and solid, carrying the smell of soil and sun — the kind of smell that only comes from something actually grown in the ground.

In her past life, the last image in her mind before she died had been the cake Hazel made by hand for her eighteenth birthday, and the burnt smell of the candles going out.

The things that matter most are never the things money can buy.

"I love these soybeans." She stood up slowly and turned to Ryan. "If they don't want them, take them back. Make me soy milk when I get home."

Ryan blinked, then broke into a wide smile, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes creasing with it.

"Of course! Mrs. Adams will be so happy to hear that!"

Hazel's expression darkened. She didn't say another word.

Elowen picked up her suitcase and walked to the tractor.

"Ryan, does the family grow anything besides soybeans?"

"Oh, plenty," Ryan said cheerfully, loading her bag. "Two million acres of land — we grow all sorts of things. Whatever you want to eat, Ms. Adams, we'll find it."

Abigail laughed out loud, not bothering to hide it.

"Two million acres? That's bigger than all of Wynterhaven."

Elowen climbed up onto the tractor and settled into the bumpy seat. She glanced back at the three figures standing at the entrance of Perez Villa.

Three familiar faces, looking very far away in the afternoon light.

Ryan started the engine. The tractor rumbled slowly out of the estate.

Elowen didn't look back.

Abigail watched the tractor disappear down the road, smiled to herself, and went inside.

The burlap sack sat by the gate where no one had touched it. Tucked quietly among the soybeans were several property deeds, waiting in the afternoon sun to be found — or never found at all.