This man, this amazing, talented person, had a presence that was impossible to ignore. He knew his craft and he taught it well. In the three years since I had been gone, Flynn had quite clearly made a comfortable life for himself here. He was blossoming and becoming someone I had always known he could be.

My chest felt tight.

I was full of both pride and sadness. A part of me was sad to have missed this huge change in him. I had been absent during this integral period of growth. I had missed out on his transformation. I felt strangely cheated.

Flynn continued to walk down the aisle toward the back of the classroom where I was seated. He still hadn’t noticed me and I hadn’t expected him to. He was entirely focused on his class.

Flynn had made this life. He had carved out his piece of contentment, and I couldn’t help but wonder how in the world I would ever fit. He had done all of this in the time we had spent apart and he was flourishing. What in the world did he need me for?

He was happy. I could tell that. His passion for his art was apparent as he spoke to his students, who hung on his every word.

Even though I had gone off to school and gotten a degree, I still felt so behind the curve. I hated feeling inadequate. In the past it would trigger a nasty, hateful response. But now it just made me feel depressed.

It was important for me to feel like I belonged in this life Flynn had built. I hated the twinge of bitterness that he had done all of this without me.

That he hadn’t needed me.

But Flynn had never really needed me.

He had been perfectly able to survive without my assistance. And it wasn’t fair of me to think of him as someone that would require my help in any way.

His disability had never hampered him. It had never held him back from anything. So why was I suddenly feeling resentful of that?

It was being here. In Wellston. I had been back for less than twenty-four hours and already I was starting to doubt myself.

Finally, as if sensing I was there, Flynn looked up.

His eyes met mine and held for just a moment. His dark hair fell across his forehead and it made him look incredibly young. He gave me a shy smile, reminding me that despite all of the changes, he was still Flynn Hendrick.

Just my Flynn.

Chapter Six

-Ellie-

I was angry.

Really, really angry.

I wanted to hurt someone.

I wanted to hit and claw and scream.

It had everything to do with Sarah and Bailey. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson’s daughters who liked to hurt me when no one was looking.

I had been living with the Johnsons for four months. I hated it but I thought maybe, over time, they’d start loving me. Maybe they’d let me be a part of their family forever.

I didn’t know much about being nice to people. But I tried. I did the chores Mrs. Johnson told me to do. I picked up all the toys and I washed the dishes. Even though Sarah and Bailey never had to do anything¸ I never complained.

I was trying to be a good girl.

I tried not to get mad when I wasn’t allowed to watch television with the rest of the family.

I didn’t tattle when Sarah broke the glass angel Julie had given me for Christmas. And I didn’t tell when Bailey stole my favorite book.

I would be a perfect girl. So perfect, they’d let me stay. Then they would love me. Sarah and Bailey would want me in their family. I could go see movies with them and they would take me shopping.

Maybe then Mrs. Johnson would kiss me goodnight like she did Bailey and Sarah.

Julie told me I had to learn to control my anger. That I couldn’t break things and hurt people. That I’d only get into trouble and it didn’t solve anything.

The counselor I had been seeing told me that if I got mad, I should scream in my pillow or count backwards from ten. So I tried to do all of those things. They didn’t really help but I didn’t want to get into any trouble. I wanted to be a good girl and then maybe, one day, I’d find a family who wanted to keep me.

So I did all of those things, even though I wanted to do the bad stuff more.

But then I came home from seeing my counselor to find that Sarah and Bailey had pulled all the stuffing out of Clive and left it all over my bedroom. They had cut off his ears and ripped off his tail.

I had cried. I couldn’t help it. I never cried, but I loved Clive.

My mom had given him to me when I was a baby and it was the only thing that was mine.

I should have hidden him.

I should have kept him safe. He was all I had. And now he was ruined.

Gone.

And then I wasn’t crying anymore. I was angry.

So, so angry.

I didn’t want to scream in my pillow. I couldn’t think about counting backwards from ten. I couldn’t think of a happy place in my head that I could go to.

I marched down the hallway and went into the room that Sarah and Bailey shared. I didn’t feel jealous at seeing the chest overflowing with toys or the closet full of beautiful clothes. I barely noticed that this room was every little girl’s dream.

I grabbed a pair of scissors from the desk in the corner and picked up the doll I knew was Sarah’s favorite and I cut the hair. Then I poked its eyes out. Then I ripped its arms off and threw it against the wall.

I moved onto their pillows, pulling all the stuffing out, like they had done to Clive. I was so angry that I just kept cutting. And ripping. And breaking. Until their room looked like Clive.

In pieces.

I gripped the scissors tightly in my hand, the blade cutting into my palm. It hurt. Really bad. I looked down and saw the blood dripping down my fingers.