The Four Dolls Who Replaced My Family Chapter 08

The Four Dolls Who Replaced My Family Chapter 08

After the reporter left, the silence in the Sterlings’ living room was suffocating.

Bella’s acceptance letter sat open on the coffee table.

Just minutes ago, they had gathered around it, smiling.

Now, no one could even look at it.

Mr. Sterling moved first. He grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

“We’re going to her school.”

“Someone’s going to tell me where she went.”

Mrs. Sterling followed, her steps unsteady.

Tristan and Julian followed close behind.

Bella stayed behind on the sofa, pale as a ghost.

She almost called after them.

But her mouth opened, and no words came out.

The school was mostly empty for the summer. Only Ms. Vance was still in her office.

When all four of them walked in, she didn’t look surprised—as if she’d been expecting this.

Mrs. Sterling didn’t even bother sitting down.

“Ms. Vance, where did Eleanor go? Is she keeping this from us on purpose?”

Ms. Vance studied her for a long moment before answering.

“Eleanor is eighteen.”

“Under privacy laws, if she doesn’t want you to know, my hands are tied.”

Mr. Sterling’s jaw clenched.

“We’re her parents! How could she make a decision like this without telling her own family?”

Ms. Vance set her papers down. Her voice cooled.

“The day she submitted her applications, I asked if she wanted to talk it over with her family first.”

“She said, ‘No. They already made the decision for me once.'”

No one had an answer to that.

The color completely drained from Mrs. Sterling’s face.

She remembered Eleanor sitting in that armchair at the far end of the room.

Nails digging into her palms, eyes red-rimmed.

And all Mrs. Sterling had done was tell her where not to apply. She hadn’t even let Eleanor tell them her score.

Ms. Vance wasn’t finished.

“Eleanor had an incredibly hard year.”

“Most of senior year, she’d come in looking exhausted. She’d sit through class barely able to keep her eyes open, her face pale and drained.”

“She didn’t have enough money to live on, so she was working part-time on top of all that. She nearly passed out from the heat more than once from standing outside in that costume. And there was a bruise on her forehead she never explained.”

“I asked her why she didn’t tell her family.”

“She said, ‘What’s the point? They wouldn’t care.'”

Mrs. Sterling started to say something.

But no words came.

Ms. Vance pulled a form from a folder.

“This is what Eleanor submitted when she applied for financial aid and her federal work-study position.”

“Under Expected Family Contribution, she filed a dependency override, stating: ‘No reliable family support.'”

“It was denied at first. Because on paper, the Sterlings are incredibly wealthy.”

“Who would’ve believed that parents like you weren’t supporting their own daughter?”

The office was deathly still.

The Sterlings weren’t poor.

Mr. Sterling was a corporate executive making seven figures a year.

Mrs. Sterling owned three boutiques, and her monthly revenue alone pulled in six figures.

They’d drop five figures on a designer bag for Bella without blinking.

But they had left their oldest daughter to rot in a rental apartment. Alone. For an entire year.

From the school, they drove straight to the apartment.

The landlord was inside cleaning.

She looked startled to see them.

“Looking for Eleanor? She ended her lease early.”

Mrs. Sterling went pale.

“Did she say where she was going?”

The landlord shook her head.

“She didn’t.”

“That girl cleaned the place until it was spotless before she left. Left the keys on the table and everything.

“Only thing she left behind was a few little plushies. I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out.”

She reached into a cabinet and pulled out a cardboard box.

Four plushies sat inside, lined up in a neat row.

Her dad. Her mom. Tristan. Julian.

The fabric was worn, the stitching uneven. Clearly hand-sewn.

Mrs. Sterling took one look and broke down crying.

For an entire year, they’d left Eleanor in this room.

And she’d made little versions of all of them, just so she wouldn’t have to eat alone, sleep alone, or feel completely abandoned.

Julian was standing by the desk when he noticed something sticking out of the trash can.

He reached down and pulled it out.

Half a postcard, torn straight down the middle.

Crestwood Lake at North Crest.

And in the corner, his own handwriting.

[Eleanor, I’ll be waiting for you at North Crest.]

Julian’s hands shook.

The other half was wedged beneath the table leg.

He crouched down and eased it free, then pressed the two halves together.

The tear ran straight through the center. No matter how carefully he held it, the edges wouldn’t line up.

Just like whatever bond he once shared with Eleanor—he had torn it apart with his own hands.