Her jaw practically hit the floor. "You actually want to come home with me? Don't you care that my parents might break my legs?"
I gave her a smile that didn't reach my eyes. "Of course I care. But a quick cut heals faster than a slow bleed. We can't hide in the shadows forever, can we?"
"Besides, if I remember right, your grandfather's eightieth birthday celebration is the day after tomorrow. No time like the present. We'll bring a generous gift, say all the right things. I doubt the old man would raise a hand against someone who came bearing smiles on his big day."
The moment the words left my mouth, Greta's expression turned ugly. She didn't speak for a long time.
It was Melvin who stepped forward instead, every inch the man of the house, scolding me with feigned concern:
"You know perfectly well the James family looks down on you. Are you really going to ruin her grandfather's eightieth birthday just for a moment of self-satisfaction?"
The second she heard Melvin's rebuke, Greta straightened her spine:
"Victor, it's not that I don't want to bring you. The timing is just wrong. Grandpa's health has always been fragile. This whole celebration is meant to lift his spirits. If I brought you along and something happened to him, I'd never forgive myself."
A thousand words, and every single one of them was an excuse to shut me out.
I nodded and stepped back. "Fine."
I turned in silence and walked away. Greta reached out to stop me, but Melvin caught her wrist.
"Let him go. Let him cool off before he loses it again."
My steps faltered. A memory surfaced, unbidden. The day I first came home, nine years ago.
I had just turned eighteen. College entrance exams were right around the corner.
The Gilberts appeared out of nowhere, holding Melvin's hand, telling me he was my twin brother. They said they'd believed I died as an infant, that someone had taken me away.
But I overheard Melvin on his knees before my parents, his face twisted with guilt:
Maybe I should be the one to leave. Victor is your real son. If my birth parents hadn't switched us, Victor never would've ended up with a crippled left leg and a half-blind right eye.
I looked down at my crooked leg and shoved the door open with a cold laugh:
So you knew. You knew Melvin's parents did this to me, turned me into something barely human, and you still lied. You let me believe they were the kind strangers who took me in and raised me.
For as long as I could remember, I'd been beaten and humiliated. I never understood why my own parents could be so cruel.
Not until the Gilberts stood before me.
Then it almost made sense.
I wasn't their child. Just something they'd picked up. No wonder they never wanted me around. At least they'd put food on my plate. I should be grateful for that much.
But just as I was learning to accept it, the ugliest truth of all was laid bare.
My fist connected with Melvin's face. I tore that mask of kindness right off him.
"You put nails in my bed and now you talk about leaving? Drop the act!"
The Gilbert parents threw themselves between us, but it didn't matter. I shattered Melvin's leg. And even that didn't come close to repaying what his parents had done to me.
After that, every elite family in the city knew the same story: the Gilbert heir they'd found was a lunatic. A savage who'd maimed his own brother.
I was sent overseas. They re-broke my bones and set them straight. Gave me new corneas.
The Gilbert parents told me:
From now on, Melvin owes you nothing.
The memory dissolved. Greta's cool voice drifted up from behind me: "If you want to lose your mind, take a good look at what you are first. And besides, Melvin doesn't owe you a thing. If he ever tried anything against you, I'd be the first to put a stop to it."
The echo of those words, so eerily familiar, drew a laugh out of me.
"Doesn't owe me?"
I turned to look at Greta.
"Are you saying Melvin doesn't owe me, or that you don't?"
