Helene.

I sat in the back seat, my soaked dress clinging to my skin, the stench making my stomach turn. My hands were clenched so tightly in my lap that my nails dug into my palms. Humiliation burned through me like acid, hot and relentless, making my chest feel tight and my eyes sting with angry tears I refused to let fall.

I closed my eyes briefly.

Who was Freya?

That was the question that kept surfacing no matter how many times I pushed it back down. The stepsister I'd grown up dismissing, looking through, stepping over. The quiet one. The unremarkable one. The one who was supposed to stay...