Twice, Luna They Left Behind Chapter 08

Twice, Luna They Left Behind Chapter 08

Dad stood in the hospital hallway.

The ever-composed, arrogant university professor. The Alpha of the pack.

He slumped against the wall, slid down into a crouch, and buried his face in his hands. A strangled sob broke out of him.

Three months later.

Washington, D.C.

The late-autumn chill had stripped the sycamore trees along the street. Leaves littered the ground.

I pushed open the door to the study lounge, a hot coffee in hand.

Most of the function in my right fingers had come back. The scars were still ugly, but I could grip a pen without it trembling now.

Today was the day I’d officially secured the National Physics Olympiad gold medal and the Royal Warrior University scholarship admission.

I was almost at the school gate when a familiar black Audi pulled up to the curb.

The doors opened, and Mom and Dad stepped out.

They’d aged a lot.

Streaks of white threaded through Mom’s hair, and the lines around her eyes had deepened past what makeup could cover. Dad’s

—

shoulders had started to stoop. The academic arrogance was gone.

Leo stood behind them, head down, like a plucked, cowering quail.

They’d tracked me down through the address on my published journal article.

“Lydia.”

Mom’s voice was carefully, desperately gentle.

She stepped forward and reached for my hand.

I took half a step back and dodged her.

“What are you doing here?”

My voice stayed even. No anger. No hurt. Just the tone you’d use for three strangers asking for directions.

“Lydia, Mom and Dad came to bring you home.”

Dad’s eyes were red. He pulled an expensive bag from the car.

“This is the newest MacBook. The one you always wanted. Dad bought it for you.”

“And that consent form—I’ve signed it. As long as you’re willing, next year—”

“Don’t bother.”

I cut him off. “I’ve already locked in the Royal Warrior University scholarship admission. I don’t need any consent form anymore.”

Dad’s hand froze in midair. The form he’d once dangled like a

—

bargaining chip was nothing but scrap paper now.

“Lydia, I—” Mom’s voice broke. “I know I messed up. I know.”

Tears spilled down Mom’s face.

“We were blinded by Leo. We played favorites. Mom read that ledger.”

“We owe you too much for all these years.”

“We cut off Leo’s allowance. All of it. His consoles, his models—gone. Everything we have, from now on, it goes to you.”

She glared back at Leo.

“Get over here and apologize to your sister. Now.”

Leo shuffled forward, clearly unwilling, his mouth opening—

“I don’t need it,” I said, looking at them. “Do you honestly think an apology and a bigger allowance will fix this? That I’ll come running back, crying grateful tears?”

“In your head, is that how it works? You tweak the equation and everything balances out—even the parts that broke me?”

Mom faltered.

“You’re wrong,” I said, and tossed my empty coffee cup into the trash. “I didn’t leave to force you to value me. I left because I don’t need you anymore.”

“I screamed until my voice gave out in that fire. And all I heard was your footsteps. Leaving me. Carrying him. I’ve had no parents since that night.”