Page 1 of That Emerald Vow

I stare into my eyes through the reflection of my vanity, not recognizing the girl in front of me. My emerald eyes used to glisten with life and wonder, but they have dulled through the years.

If anyone was asked about Charlotte Thatcher, they would say, “She’s the girl with the bright smile that lights up any room,” or, “She’s the life of the party,” and maybe even, “She’s the little rich girl who gets everything she ever wants.”

What no one realizes is that I am the girl who comes from a broken family that onlylookspicture perfect. The closer you get, the more cracks you’ll find in our family’s facade.

My father started sleeping around after franchising his once humble, small town bakery. This deflated my mother’s already fragile self-esteem to new lows, which she then took out on me. If she couldn’t feel worthy, then no one could.

Mission accomplished, Mother.

Happiness is such a foreign concept to me at this point that I don’t even believe it’s possible for me anymore.

What no one cares to acknowledge about Charlotte Thatcher is that no one wanted to be friends with her until she was rich and could offer something to others. Before that, she was invisible.

What no one sees is a heart fracturing behind every smile because it’s her coping mechanism, and she’d rather spread joy than her own misery.

There hasn’t been a single person who’s been able to see through my bubbly exterior, and at this rate, it seems like no one ever will. I have somefriends, but they’re more like acquaintances—people I hang out with. Nothing real because real friends would be able to see all the pain I hide behind my smile.

“Charlotte!” My mother seethes from the door—loud enough for me to hear, but low enough no one else can. “Stop being a dramatic bitch and come say hi to the family. They’re waiting outside.”

Blinking away the tears that threaten to spill from my eyes, I pick up the lip gloss on the vanity and put it on. “Yes, Mother.” I look at my reflection and smile at myself. “Perfect,” I whisper, looking at my lips, but when I look back at my eyes, they look absolutely hollow.

I head to the door, where my mother waits so I can walk down with her, smiling, hopeful that me listening will make her happy. That’s all I want—her approval.

“That color makes you look like a whore. Take it off.”

My mouth parts as I flinch at the assault of her words. “I-I’m sorry.” I scramble to my vanity to wipe off the lip gloss with a tissue. My father gave it to me as a gift when he came back from his most recent conference. Honestly, it was probably his secretary who picked it out—another woman he’s probably sleeping with.

I pull out a clear gloss my mom got me from my perfectly organized makeup drawer. This one she has to like—it matches the one she is wearing. “I-is this better, Mother?” I look up at her, my heart heavy in my chest.

She looks at me without any sign of affection. “It’ll do. There’s not much we can do,” she scoffs as she turns around and goes down the stairs.

My cheeks hurt from the forced smile, not willing to show my pain. Ikeep that smile all the way until I go outside to greet the rest of my family. I keep it on so long, I forget it’s not real.

I wince in pain as I peel the hangnail on my thumb, the blood pebbling against my skin. Pulling it into my mouth, I suck, tasting the warm, iron liquid. The cool plastic of the chair in the interrogation room at the local police station is quite literally freezing my balls off.

It’s been hours of me sitting in this icebox waiting for someone to pick me up when I finally hear my mother’s nasally voice outside the door. “What the hell did he do this time?”

“Mrs. Hayes, you can’t just—” Whitey, the police chief, calls out to my mother.

“It’sMs. Hayes,” she nags at him, slightly slurring her words as she bursts through the door I’m being held behind.Great, she’s high as always.I didn’t expect differently, but there’s always that small hope that this time would be different. I mean, we’re in a police precinct, for crying out loud.

“What did you do, boy?” she demands of me. I bite down to maintain my look of indifference rather than contorting my face with disdain.

My mom used to be so beautiful, but ever since she met Frank and he got her hooked on oxy, she’s not the same person. It’s been several years since she’s beenher—the mom who would never forget to cut the crust off my sandwiches. But now she’s the mother who chooses to not feed herkids so she can use that money for drugs.

Frank is her on-again, off-again boyfriend but also the father of Dani, my eleven-year-old sister—three years my junior.

Now my mother is always high on harder drugs—anything she can get her hands on. Her hair is always matted to her scalp, some of her teeth are missing, and she’s skinny as a rail. Dani and I probably don’t look much better since Mom wastes away our money for food on drugs. She will sell and fuck her way to her next hit—without a care for her kids well-being.

Which brings us to right now. “I asked you a question, boy,” she demands.

I just stare into her eyes, refusing to speak.

Whitey takes pity on me and speaks. “We saw him selling loose cigarettes at school.”

My mother bursts out laughing. “That’s what I rushed over here for?” She keels over, now coughing up a lung, she’s laughing so hard. Her dirty dress shaking with each laughing cough.

“Rushed,” I whisper to myself. She considers hours after being called multiple times, rushing over.

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