But then, the real nightmare began.
For the next few days, we lived under the same roof, but there was no connection between us. I went to school. I worked at the coffee shop. I returned home to the hollow silence of a house that no longer felt like home.
Then, one evening, everything changed. I came home to find my belongings packed by the door. My guitar, my clothes, my books—everything was stuffed into suitcases. Charlotte was standing in the hallway, arms crossed, an unsettling smile on her face.
"This is it," she said, her voice light with fake cheer. "Our paths split here, Dawn. I need you to leave."
I blinked slowly, as if trying to wake myself from a bad dream. "What?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"You heard me," she said, gesturing to the bags. "This house is mine now. The lawyer said it. I’m done taking care of you."
