Chapter 1
Evan wasn’t sure what to expect.
The same thoughts had haunted him since the night before he boarded the plane from France to England.
It had been over four years since he last saw his mother or his twin sister, Pandora—not since the divorce of their parents had been finalized. Since the divorce papers were signed, he felt as if his life was torn in two. For the past few years, he’d been stuck in a cold, lonely house in France with his father—though, in truth, he had never been given a choice in where he’d end up.
Evan’s father always had a presence in his life, but not a presence that made him feel loved. His voice was filled with anger and expectations Evan could never meet. There were late nights when Evan would sit in his room, waiting for his father to come home. The sharp smell of whisky would linger in the air. Evan knew not to speak to him on those nights. He knew it was better to remain unseen and unheard. He learned it was safer to remain unseen and unheard to avoid his father's unstable tempers.
When Evan was 13, it had been a few months after the divorce; he had already learned to keep quiet when his fathers came home drunk. This night was different. His father came home unusually earlier than most nights. He could hear him stumbling around the house. Without a word, he stumbled down the hall and into Evan’s room, muttering to himself. Evan knew better than to acknowledge him, so he kept his mouth closed and head down. His father called his name once—then twice, but Evan didn’t answer. His father, leaning on the doorframe of Evan’s bedroom door, let out a loud yell.
“What’s the matter with you boy?” his father slurred.
Evan remained silent with his head down on his desk, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk as if gripping tightly enough would make him disappear.
“Are you mute now?” his father scowled.
Evan didn’t move. He knew better than to move. He thought if he was lucky, his father would give up and think he fell asleep with his head against the desk. Unfortunately for Evan, the next moment, a rough hand shot up, grasping Evan’s hair and yanking him backward. Evan's breath hitched as he stared straight into his father's eyes, blown pupils, but refusing to look away, even as his scalp started to sting from his father's tight grip on his hair. His father’s face hovered over him, breath like hot, stinking of whiskey and cigarettes.
“I asked you a question.” His father's grip tightened.
Evan clenched his jaw, still forcing himself to stay still.
“I’m talking to you boy.” he spat. His grip tightened as he gave another sharp tug, forcing Evan’s head back even more. Evan continued to just stare at his father's blown pupils and continued being very still.
“I work my ass off every day, and this is the respect I get from my own damn son?” his father cursed out with his hands still gripping Evan's hair.
Suddenly, his other hand shot out, striking Evan hard across the face. Evan forced himself not to react, knowing that is what his father wanted.
“Look at you—pathetic. Just like your mother and sister,” he muttered while shoving Evan’s head full force onto the desk.
Evan felt as if his head was going to explode. His vision blurred, and he could already feel the bruise forming. His cheek stung from the slap, but he remained frozen, waiting. A few moments later, he heard his father stumble down to his door, onto the hall, into his bedroom, slamming his door. Once he heard the door slam, he felt as if he could actually breathe.
This is how it usually went for many years. His father called it discipline, a lesson of respect and strength, and Evan called it learning to survive.
He learned to make himself small and not have a voice in his own house. This was to withstand whatever his father did because it was the only way to get through it.
He still kept his head down on the desk, wondering what would happen if one day his father never showed up at home. Or if he was found dead somewhere. Until the day it did happen.
Evan had thought he would feel free, even relieved. Instead, he had felt nothing at all.
Now, a few days after his father's death, Evan is standing frozen outside his mother's and sister's house. He felt the cold England air hitting his skin. There was snow covering the pavement like a white blanket. Inside, he could see faint lights of holiday decorations still hanging up. They had always loved this time of year. His father on the other hand, hated it. While living in France, Evan and his father never celebrated any holidays.
It was winter break, just after Christmas but before New Year’s Eve. He had spent Christmas alone in France; he tried convincing himself that it was better off that way. He wouldn’t have come if he had a choice. But now, with his father gone, the decision had been made for him. He was still a minor. Legally, he had nowhere to go other than back to his childhood house with his mother and sister. So here he was, forced back into a life that had continued without him.
A social worker handled the situation and arranged for Evan to return to England. Before he even knew it, he was being sent back to a family that had no idea of the person he had become.
Evan hadn’t spoken to them in years. Both his sister and mother tried, but Evan refused to let them get involved in the chaos of his and his father's lives.
But now, what if they moved on and didn’t want him back in their lives?
His hand trembled as he reached for the doorbell. For a moment, he hesitated, then, before he could talk himself out of it, he pressed it.
Almost immediately, the door swung open as if they had been waiting and ready for him to arrive any second now.
The air inside the house was warmer than he expected. Not just in temperature but in the way it felt. It felt as if there were ghosts of a life he no longer recognized.
“Evan.” Pandora’s voice cut through his thoughts, unmistakably her voice. He barely had time to brace himself before she launched forward, wrapping her arms around him.
It was suffocating.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” she murmured against his shoulder.
She pulled back slightly, eyes scanning his face. “You look… different.”
Evan didn’t know how to reply to that. Of course, he looked different. Four years was a long time. Now he was taller, skinnier, and his features were sharper—years of surviving in his father’s house had transformed him into something unrecognizable.
“Evan” His chest twisted painfully as he looked past Pandora and saw her. His mother.
She looked almost the same but older. She looked guilty, nervous even, which was odd. He didn’t think she’d ever been nervous around him before.
“Come in. You must be freezing.” she said finally, offering a smile.
He stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind him. He knows it should’ve felt like coming home. Instead, it felt like standing somewhere where he no longer belongs.
The first few days were… strange.
Pandora was everywhere. She kept trying to pull him into conversations, asking him about France, school, even about their father, about anything to get him to talk. But Evan had spent years perfecting the art of being unseen and unheard, and he wasn’t about to unlearn that now. His mother wasn’t much better than Pandora. She kept watching him when she thought he wasn’t looking; her eyes flickered with something between guilt and worry.
He hated it.
On the third day, one of Pandora's friends showed up unannounced.
Evan had been sitting at the kitchen table when the doorbell rang, and Pandora practically sprinted to answer it.
There was a burst of laughter, a shrieking, “Oh my God, is that the long-lost Rosier twin I heard so much about?”
Suddenly, a girl Evan had never seen was standing in his kitchen like she belonged there. Evan cast a questioning glance at Pandora, who rolled her eyes and gestured between them.
“Evan, this is Emmeline,” she said. “Emmeline, Evan.”
Evan gave her a quick glance, noticing her perfectly styled hair, bold eyeliner, and confident stance. Evan would hate to admit this, but Emmeline was one of those people who were effortlessly cool, dressed like she had somewhere much more interesting to be.
Evan just stared at her, expression blank.
“I see you’re just as friendly as Pandora said,” Emmeline said dryly.
Pandora elbowed her. “He’s still adjusting.”
“To what? Having to interact with people?” Emmeline said as she propped herself against the counter.
“You can say something like that, I guess” Evan said jokingly.
Later that night, Pandora brought up a party.
“You have to come,” she insisted, arms crossed as she perched on the edge of his bed. “Everyone’s going to be there.”
The idea of going to some big loud party full of people that he had never met in his life who would expect him to act like he fits in, made him want to disappear.
“Even more reason for me not to go,” Evan muttered, rubbing his temples.
“Evan.” Her voice had an exasperated tone that he recognized all too well.
“Why do you care?” He sighed.
“Because you’re my brother,” she said simply. “And I want you to have friends.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t.” He said, letting out a bitter laugh.
“That’s not true, and you know that.” Pandora said.
Silence stretched between them, a suffocating silence.
Then, finally—
“Just think about it, okay?”
Evan didn’t answer.
But later, while lying in the dark staring at the ceiling, Evan thought, just maybe, he’d go to the party.
Not for himself. But for his sister.
And if it goes badly, well…
He gets to say I told you so at least.