Chapter 1: “These Gifts Aren't for You!”
“Those gifts were bought with your dead mother's money, Jasmine. And you still don't deserve a single one.””
I was ten years old when my stepmother said those words to me. But the worst part wasn't what she said. It was what my father saw when he pulled into our driveway that afternoon—and the decision he made before the sun went down.
My name is Jasmine Carter, and until that day, I believed there was nothing my father wouldn't do to protect me.
I was wrong.
The first thing I heard that Saturday afternoon was the rustle of shopping bags.
Lots of them.
I was sitting cross-legged on the living room rug, working on a school project about the solar system. Colored pencils lay scattered around me, and a half-finished Saturn hung from a piece of string above my head.
The front door swung open.
My stepmother, Brittany, swept inside wearing oversized sunglasses, a cream-colored designer coat, and a smile so wide it made her look ten years younger.
Behind her came her two children, Tyler, twelve, and Madison, eight.
They were practically dancing.
"Mom! Did you get the blue one?"" Madison squealed.
Brittany lifted a glossy shopping bag.
"Did I get the blue one? Sweetheart, I got you the blue one, the pink one, and something even better.""
Madison shrieked.
Tyler snatched a bag from Brittany's hand and peered inside.
"No way! The new gaming headset?""
"The expensive one," Brittany replied proudly.
"Your mother knows what her boy likes.""
Tyler hugged her around the waist.
I watched them from the floor, holding a green colored pencil between my fingers.
There were enough bags to fill half the entryway. Some had gold lettering. Others carried the logos of expensive toy stores and department stores I'd only visited once, years ago, with my father.
Brittany kicked the door shut and began arranging the bags on the coffee table.
"Careful, Tyler. That one has your tablet. Madison, yours is the biggest.""
Then she noticed me.
Her smile vanished as if someone had flipped a switch.
"Jasmine. Why are you sitting in the middle of the floor?""
"I'm finishing my project.""
"Well, move it. You're taking up the entire living room.""
I hurried to gather my pencils.
"Sorry.""
She didn't answer.
Instead, she pulled a large purple box from one of the bags and placed it in Madison's lap.
Madison tore at the ribbon.
Inside was a dollhouse with tiny furniture, miniature lamps, and little plastic dishes arranged on a dining table. It was the kind of dollhouse I'd stared at through a store window last Christmas.
"Oh my gosh!"" Madison screamed.
"Mom, it's the one I wanted!""
Brittany kissed her forehead.
"Anything for my baby.""
Tyler received his headset, a new controller, and a pair of expensive sneakers. Brittany photographed him wearing the headset while he grinned at his reflection in the dark television screen.
I sat quietly beside the couch.
I wasn't expecting anything extravagant. My father had taught me that Christmas and birthdays weren't the only times people could show love.
But it wasn't Christmas.
It wasn't anyone's birthday.
It was simply Saturday.
And somehow, Brittany had decided that Saturday was a special occasion for her children.
I glanced at the remaining bags.
There was a small silver box tucked beneath two shopping bags. It had a white ribbon and looked about the size of a jewelry box.
My heart gave a hopeful little jump.
Maybe she'd bought me something, too.
Brittany had been married to my father for almost two years. She wasn't always kind to me, but sometimes she brought home cookies or asked about school. On those rare occasions, I convinced myself that we were getting closer.
Perhaps today was one of those days.
I stood and approached the coffee table.
"Those are beautiful," I said softly.
Madison was already arranging furniture inside her dollhouse.
"Don't touch anything," she replied.
"I wasn't going to.""
I looked at Brittany.
"Did you get something for me, too?""
For a moment, she didn't move.
Then she laughed.
Not a warm laugh. Not the kind adults used when a child said something funny.
It was a short, sharp sound that made Tyler look up from his phone.
"Something for you?"" Brittany repeated.
I swallowed.
"Well, there are a lot of bags.""
"And?""
"I thought maybe—"
"You thought wrong.""
My cheeks began to burn.
"Oh. Okay.""
I turned to return to my project, telling myself it didn't matter.
Then I noticed the silver box again.
A tiny tag dangled from its ribbon, but the writing was turned away from me.
I took one small step closer.
"Is that one for—"
I reached toward it.
Brittany slapped my hand away.
The sound cracked through the living room.
My fingers stung. I jerked backward, clutching my hand against my chest.
"These gifts aren't for you!""
The room went silent.
Madison stopped moving a miniature chair.
Tyler lowered his phone.
I stared at Brittany, struggling to understand why she looked so angry.
"I was only looking," I whispered.
"And I told you not to touch them.""
"I didn't know.""
"Then learn!""
I blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from falling.
My father always said that if I was confused, I should ask questions instead of making assumptions.
So I asked the question that had been sitting in my chest since she walked through the door.
"Mom, didn't you get anything for me?""
The word slipped out naturally.
Mom.
I had called her that twice before. The first time, she'd corrected me in front of her friends. The second time, she'd ignored me.
But sometimes, when I was tired or distracted, the word still escaped.
Brittany's face hardened.
"Don't call me that.""
I lowered my eyes.
"Sorry.""
"You're not my daughter!""
The words seemed to suck all the air out of the room.
Tyler looked away.
Madison hugged her new dollhouse.
Brittany stepped toward me, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor.
"I have two children to take care of. Two children who actually belong to me. I don't owe you anything.""
I tried to speak, but my throat had tightened.
"My dad says we're a family.""
"Your father says a lot of things.""
She grabbed my upper arm.
Her fingers dug into my skin.
"Come on.""
"Where are we going?""
"You're going to your room.""
"But I didn't do anything.""
"Don't argue with me!""
She pulled me toward the hallway, but instead of turning toward the stairs, she dragged me toward the front door.
My stomach twisted.
"Brittany, please.""
She yanked the door open.
Cold afternoon air rushed into the house.
"Get out!""
I froze on the threshold.
Outside, the wind carried the smell of freshly cut grass from the neighboring lawn. A delivery truck rumbled past the end of the street. Everything looked painfully ordinary.
I stared at the front steps.
"Where am I supposed to go?""
"That's not my problem.""
"But Dad—"
"Your father is not here to rescue you every time you decide to act spoiled.""
"I'm not spoiled.""
The words came out so quietly I wasn't sure she'd heard them.
Brittany tightened her grip and pulled me another step forward.
"Then stop behaving like you deserve what my children have.""
My eyes filled.
I didn't cry because I wanted the dollhouse.
I cried because I'd spent almost two years trying to be good enough for her.
I'd washed dishes when she had a headache. I'd helped Madison with her reading. I'd made Tyler a birthday card even after he told me I wasn't his real sister.
I'd even stopped asking Brittany to braid my hair because she always said she was busy.
And now she was pushing me out of the house over a box I hadn't even touched.
"Brittany," I whispered, "please don't make me leave.""
She opened her mouth to answer.
Then a familiar engine rumbled from the driveway.
A black SUV turned past the mailbox.
My father's SUV.
My heart leaped so suddenly that I almost stumbled.
"Dad!""
I tried to pull away from Brittany, but she held on.
The SUV rolled to a stop.
Through the windshield, I saw my father turn his head.
Nathan Carter was forty-two, broad-shouldered, with dark hair beginning to gray at the temples. He ran a construction company that had grown from a small local business into a regional operation. People who worked for him called him demanding but fair.
To me, he was the man who used to sit beside my bed when nightmares woke me.
He was the man who still kept my mother's photograph on his nightstand.
He was the man who promised, after Mom died, that I would never have to face the world alone.
The driver's door opened.
Dad stepped out.
His eyes moved from me to Brittany's hand gripping my arm, then to the open front door.
"What," he asked slowly, "is going on here?""
Brittany released me so quickly that I stumbled backward.
For one breath, she looked frightened.
Then her expression changed.
She lifted a hand to her chest and began trembling.
"Nathan! Thank goodness you're home.""
Dad didn't move.
I stood barefoot on the threshold, my project abandoned on the living room rug behind me.
Brittany rushed toward him.
"Your daughter has been completely out of control all afternoon.""
I stared at her.
Dad looked past her at me.
"Jasmine?""
I tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
He noticed the tears on my cheeks. Then he noticed the red mark across my hand.
His face changed.
"Brittany," he said, his voice suddenly quiet, "why is my daughter standing outside her own house?""
My stepmother opened her mouth.
And for the first time since she'd married my father, I saw her realize that this might be a question she couldn't talk her way out of.
But what she said next would change everything.
Because Brittany looked directly at my father and answered, "Because, Nathan, someone in this family needs to teach that girl that she doesn't own everything just because her mother died.""
Dad went completely still.
Then he looked at me.
"Jasmine," he said, "come here.""
I took one step toward him.
Brittany reached for his arm.
"Nathan, wait. You don't understand—"
He pulled his arm away.
"No," he said.
"I don't think I do. So you're going to explain it to me.""
And as my father held out his hand, I noticed something on the passenger seat of his SUV.
A small white envelope.
My name was written across the front in my mother's handwriting.
May you like
Dad had been carrying it for months.
And judging by the look on his face, he had just realized that the secret inside it might be the reason Brittany had never wanted me to feel at home.
