At a table near the stage, my mother nervously looked away, staring deep into her wine glass.

My younger brother, Preston, leaned back in his chair and offered a lazy, entitled smirk.

Celeste stepped closer, her hot breath grazing my ear.

“You should have stayed gone, Evie,” she whispered viciously.

“You’re nothing but a freak now.”

Instead of running for the mahogany double doors, I slowly turned my body, leaving my ruined back fully exposed to the crowd, and locked my eyes onto my father.