Page 31 of Sinner's Salvation

“You can’t do this. I am an adult.”

“You’re living with your parents, incapable of living outside the four walls of your room. Allow me to disagree. You are not a functioning adult.”

His words stab me, the taste of bitter betrayal coating my tongue.

I sink into the couch and fight back tears. I know what I am, but does he have to be so mean, so unsympathetic? It’s not as if I can change anything. How can my parents think marrying and moving out of my safe place with a stranger will help me?

My mother sits beside me, looking intently at me.

“This is an extreme situation for you, I understand, but please...”

“I’m trying. Am I that bad?” I ask, my chin quivering.

My mother wipes the tears rolling down her cheeks.

My father purses his lips, his jaw set. “You’re my firstborn. There is nothing wrong with you.”

I seek his eyes. “Then . . .”

“Let me finish. I love you too much to accept that this is the life you’ve settled for after receiving a second chance. This marriage, I hope, will be a win for everyone involved.”

Turmoil wreaks havoc in my mind. I can say no. I have a flourishing career and don’t have to accept being put in this position. But the thought of disappointing my parents further makes it impossible to refuse. Outside this house, there are so many unknowns. So many people. So many germs.

I open my mouth, but my father cuts me off. “Cameron has a room ready for you. I talked with the head of his household. The staff has been informed.”

“What about my stuff?”

“You can take whatever you want with you.”

“When will I see you again?”

“Honey, we’re not going anywhere. It’s half an hour away,” my mother says with a small smile.

I nod and stand up. I plod toward my room, feeling numb with despair. Crashing on the edge of the bed, I curl myself into the fetal position.

But I can’t allow my thoughts to paralyze me. So, I get up and start sorting my stuff to focus on something else.

“Have you met your prince? He’s going to take you away and save you, right?” I whip my head toward my bedroom door and see that it’s open. I left it open—a testament to my scrambled thoughts. I take a few grounding breaths. My sister is in front of it, rocking slightly on her toes.

“Yes,” I say, just to see her smile, enthralled by that possibility.

“Will you come to visit?”

“Yes.”

“Can I come to visit?”

“Yes.”

“Can I hug you?”

“No.”

Her shoulders drop, and she whispers, “I’ll miss you.”

I don’t know why she loves me. I know I love her, even though I can’t show her how I should. My sister is an angel, the savior of my life, and I can’t even hug her.

She runs away, but not before I catch tears streaming down her face, making me hate my inability to change.

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