Chapter 3
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The summer before my senior year of high school, I nearly drowned. An off–duty police officer died trying to save me.
At his funeral, I saw Ethan Marina for the first time, his face ashen and hollow–eyed
as he stared at his father’s casket.
My mother clutched Patricia Marina like a lifeline, sobbing uncontrollably between promises that we’d take care of them, that we were family now.
And that’s exactly what happened. Two broken families fused by tragedy.
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On those nights when Patricia’s muffled crying echoed through the walls of their new house–the one my father had insisted on buying for them in our neighborhood–I’d quietly slip into her room with a cup of chamomile tea and sit with her until she fell asleep. Sometimes I’d crawl int
bed beside her, letting her rest her head on my shoulder as she showed me old photos of her husband. “Your have his kindness,” she’d whisper, touching my cheek. “Ethan used to have it too.” The tenderness in her voice made my throat tighten. In those quiet moments, I felt like I was actually her daughter, not just the girl responsible for her husband’s
death.
My father pulled strings to get Ethan transferred to my elite private school. A “fresh start,” he called it, though we all knew it was driven by guilt–his and mine. With each passing day, Ethan grew more withdrawn. I became his shadow–part keeper, part apologist–following him from class to class despite the cold hatred in his eyes whenever he looked at me.
In our senior year, his rebellion kicked into high gear. He started skipping classes to smoke on the roof, returning to class reeking of weed and disdain.
One day, I climbed up to find him. Instead, I walked in on him with his hand up a girl’s shirt, her back pressed against the wall, his mouth on her neck, her eyelids. fluttering in pleasure as she moaned softly. His other hand was under her plaid. uniform skirt, moving rhythmically as her hips rocked against his touch. I could see her red lace thong hanging from one ankle, kicked halfway off in their urgency. Mortified, I tried to back away, but he caught the movement and looked up with a smirk, not even bothering to remove his hands from the disheveled blonde.
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“Enjoying the show, Liv?” he called out, making the girl’s eyes snap open in
embarrassment.
He finally pulled his hands free, leaving the girl to adjust her clothing with trembling fingers. “Want to take notes? Might be the only action you ever see.” He pulled the girl forward, his arm draped possessively around her shoulders.
“Meet the future Mrs. Marina.”
His words dripped with mockery as he looked me up and down: “Her dad’s loaded. Mom loves her already.”
I stood.frozen, my face burning with humiliation, but I couldn’t just turn and leave. Our parents had made it clear–we were responsible for each other now.
That night, he pushed open my bedroom door without knocking, leaning against the frame with casual arrogance.
“You know why I fucking hate going to Dalton?” His voice was low, dangerous. He told me about Kate, how they’d been together since sophomore year. He’d planned to take her to prom, planned their future together.
“Then my dad had to save your ass, and now my life is totally fucked.”
The hatred in his eyes haunted my dreams for years afterward.
I saw Kate once, watched her from a distance during a lacrosse game. When she smiled, dimples appeared in her cheeks, and I understood why Ethan had fallen for her. She radiated the kind of effortless confidence I’d always lacked.
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