Chapter 2

Emily stepped through the front door, shoulders still tight from the extra hour of voluntary drills she’d just finished at the community pool. It was a rare light weekend, no mandatory team sets until Monday, allowing her to come home while still squeezing in voluntary drills to avoid any slip in her form. She’d pushed herself harder today—added sets of 200s and pull-throughs—because even on a home weekend, as a scholarship student, couldn’t afford a single lapse.

The ride was too fragile, the funding too conditional; one missed edge and everything she’d built could unravel. Chlorine still clung to her skin and damp blonde ponytail, sharp and metallic, a familiar badge of the discipline she refused to relax. She was here for the dinner tomorrow night, for Sarah’s sake, but the unease from the phone call two days earlier—her mother’s breathy, unsteady voice, Harlan’s name slipping in too easily—had followed her all the way home. She kicked off her sneakers by the frayed mat, the cool tile a small mercy against her feet, and headed up the stairs.

The upstairs hallway carried the faint lavender scent of bulk body wash, but Emily barely registered it on her way to the bathroom to wash away the sweat and chlorine. Steam still clouded the bathroom mirror from Sarah’s earlier shower. She turned on the hot water and stepped under the spray, letting it pound against her shoulders and rinse away the pool’s residue.

The heat loosened the knots in her muscles, but her thoughts stayed knotted. Sarah had sounded different on that call—off-balance, almost pleading—and the shift unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. She scrubbed quickly, hands moving over familiar contours, the smooth, sensitive skin below her waist still foreign after months of shaving for suits—every droplet now a tiny spark against the exposed surface. In the enclosed steam she felt streamlined yet strangely bare, the weekend’s weight pressing in despite her efforts to push it aside.

She shut off the water, toweled dry, and wrapped a robe around herself, damp hair falling in loose waves past her shoulders. The hallway creaked under her bare feet as she padded toward the soft strum of acoustic guitar drifting from Sarah’s open bedroom door. She paused in the doorway. Sarah stood before the full-length mirror propped against the wall, robe loosely tied, blonde hair curling at the ends from humidity. A subtle glow clung to her lately—skin brighter, posture straighter, a quiet confidence Emily tied to Harlan even as it unsettled her.

Dresses lay spread across the unmade bed like rare treasures in their modest room—simple furniture, a dresser with chipped edges, faded curtains letting in slanted light. Sarah turned, her face lighting up with relief at the sight of Emily. Around her neck hung a silver necklace that Emily realized had been in all of Sarah’s new social media posts. It was a delicate chain she hadn’t seen her without since coming home. The design was elegant and tasteful, a fine sterling chain interwoven with tiny pavé-set diamonds that caught the light subtly, not garishly and the pendant itself was a small, stylized lotus flower. It caught the light softly, the small lotus pendant resting just above her cleavage, cool against her skin. Sarah touched it absently, fingers brushing the lotus as if drawing strength.

Emily’s gaze lingered on the pendant. “Mom ... you never take that necklace off. What’s the story with it?”

“Sweetie, you’re home,” Sarah said, her voice warm with that maternal affection that always wrapped around Emily like a blanket. Her smile became small and private as her fingers returned to the pendant. “Renewal, sweetie. Harlan gave it to me when things started feeling possible again.”

She let go and held up two dresses from the bed. “Help me decide? Cream or green? Be honest, Em—I want to look my best tonight.”

Emily leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over her robe, the belt loose. She eyed the dresses: the cream wrap one with delicate side ties that would cinch Sarah’s waist and accentuate her full hips, and the deep emerald green sheath, a sleek number that promised to hug every curve. These weren’t their usual thrift-store finds; they were designer pieces, high-quality and impeccably made—silk blends from a luxury brand Harlan had clearly “gifted” Sarah. They likely cost more than their monthly rent. The green was particularly risqué: a plunging sweetheart neckline that would dip low to showcase ample cleavage, thin spaghetti straps crossing at the open back, and a high side slit that would flash leg with every step. The fabric was a rich jersey knit, hand-dyed and tailored with reinforced seams that screamed craftsmanship, yet bold enough to turn heads in ways their modest life rarely allowed.

“The green one, Mom,” Emily said, stepping inside. “It’ll look amazing on you. Remember that time we went to Aunt Lisa’s wedding, and you wore that old blue dress? You said it made you feel invisible. This one’s the opposite—it’ll make you shine.”

Sarah’s eyes softened, a small smile tugging at her lips as she laid the cream dress aside. “You always know how to make me feel better, Baby. That wedding ... God, that was a rough year. Your dad had just left, and we were scraping by on ramen. But you—you were my little rock, helping with chores without complaining.”