Business magnate's daughter, Isla Templeton (Feather), is the youngest of André Templeton's three children. And the top topic in the upper-class gossip in New York City.
Isla has always been a fighter; after losing her mother at a young age by sui...
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Have you ever felt like the world would be better off without you? Like you're the piece of the puzzle that just doesn't fit—no matter how much you twist or force yourself into place, it never works. It's like you're defective, broken in a way that can't be fixed. And no matter how hard they try to make you part of something, you always end up on the outside, never quite enough. You don't belong, and deep down, you know that nothing they say or do will ever make you feel whole. You'll always be the piece that never fits, the one they'll eventually push aside because, the truth is, you'll never be what they need. And they'll never be enough to fill the emptiness inside you.
I choke on a sob that I try to swallow, the tears already burning behind my eyes.
The call to go to the playroom came through the speakers, and for the first time since I'd arrived, I was allowed to join the others. I didn't know if I was ready for it, but anything felt better than staying alone in my room. The walk down the hallway felt like out of a horror movie—white walls, nurses moving back and forth, security guards stationed at every turn. They led me into the playroom, which was much bigger than I expected. The room was full of people, some watching TV, others playing cards or board games. It felt oddly normal but not quite right.
I hovered near the back of the room, unsure of what to do with myself. I wasn't in the mood to play games or make small talk. I didn't feel like I belonged there, but I wasn't sure where else I could go.
The sound of a woman's voice echoed the space. Near the heater at the far end of the room, sitting with her back straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Eliana Lopez. Max's mother. The sight of her made my stomach drop. She looked so different from how I remembered her—fragile, disconnected, like a sad memory of what she used to be.
The tall brunette woman who once draped herself in the finest jewelry, always looking as though she were headed to some exclusive gala, was a shadow of the person I remembered. There was a time when even her scent was expensive, like a mixture of rare perfumes that lingered in the air after she passed. But the woman sitting in this playroom was a sad, distorted version of what she used to be. Her once glossy hair had turned thin and gray, hanging lifeless around her shoulders. Her manicured nails were now chipped and uneven, and her eyes—once sharp and full of fire—were sunken, dulled by time. She looked like a shell, hollowed out, the sparkle and pride drained from her entirely.
She was staring blankly at the TV, her lips moving as she murmured something to the woman beside her.
I couldn't hear what she was saying at first, but as I edged closer, her words became clearer. "My son... he's so handsome, you know? A good boy."
Another patient stood next to me, "Old Eliana, telling the same story, over and over again, like a scratched Vinyl record."
I scoffed louder than I meant to. The sound echoed through the quiet corner of the room, and Eliana's head turned toward me. For a moment, I thought she might recognize me, but her gaze passed over me like I was a stranger. No flicker of recognition. Nothing.
