Chapter 9 Lily
LILY
The bus lets me off three blocks from home. The same corner I've been dropped at for years. I walk the rest of the way automatically, feet following a path worn into muscle memory.
My shoulders ache. My feet hurt in my work shoes. The commute took over an hour. Two buses and a transfer. Same route I've taken a thousand times.
This is my life. Repetitive. Exhausting. Unchanging.
Mrs. Chen's porch light is on. She always forgets to turn it off. Mr. Kowalski's silver sedan is parked across the street. He's lived in that house since before I was born. Kids are riding bikes in circles at the end of the block, their laughter carrying on the afternoon air.
Everything is exactly the same as it always is.
I did the right thing. Standing up to Luan. Telling him I wouldn't be treated that way. That I deserve basic respect.
But I feel bad anyway. Guilty. Like I abandoned someone who needed me when they were at their lowest.
I battle with myself for that. For wanting to go back and make sure he's okay. For worrying that he's alone and angry and hurting himself trying to navigate that apartment on his own.
I unlock the front door. The key sticks the way it always does. I have to jiggle it twice before the lock turns. Step inside. Close the door behind me.
The house is quiet. Empty. The floors creak under my weight. Familiar sounds. Comforting sounds that I've heard my entire life.
It smells like dust and cardboard. Like packing tape and old fabric. Like something slowly being dismantled piece by piece.
I'm home. In the house where I grew up. The place that always felt comfortable. Safe. Mine in a way nothing else ever has been.
And I have to leave it.
The thought sits heavy in my chest. But it's for the better, I tell myself. Henry needs this house more than I do. He's starting a family. His girlfriend is pregnant. They need space. Stability. A place to build a life together.
I'm just me. Alone. I can figure things out. I only have myself to worry about. He has a girlfriend and a baby on the way to think about.
That makes him the priority.
I might as well pack while I'm here. Put more memories in boxes. More pieces of my life wrapped in bubble wrap and labeled for storage until I figure out where I'm going to live.
The money from the job at Luan's would have made a real difference. Enough for first and last month's rent on a decent studio. Enough to stop living paycheck to paycheck. Enough to breathe.
But not at any cost. I won't be treated like a doormat. Not for all the money in the world.
Although. Maybe when things cool down, we can talk. Set boundaries. Have an actual conversation about what works and what doesn't. Figure out a way to make it work.
Maybe I'm lying to myself. Trying to convince myself I can have both dignity and income. That I don't have to choose.
At least I kept my job at the grocery store. It's been exhausting juggling both. Barely sleeping. But the job at Luan's was only supposed to last a few weeks. I could have managed.
I can manage.
I force myself not to think in the past tense yet.
I move to the dining room table. Boxes are stacked against the wall. Half-packed. Bubble wrap piled on one of the chairs. I pick up a picture frame. My aunt and me at my high school graduation. Her smile is wide and proud.
I wrap it carefully. Set it in a box.
Then I hear it. A noise at the front door.
My heart jumps. Adrenaline spikes.
Someone's breaking in.
The door opens.
My brother steps inside.
I freeze, staring at him. "Henry?"
He sees me. His face changes. Surprise first. Then something darker.
"What are you doing here?" His voice sharp and accusatory.
"I live here." My confusion is genuine. "What are you doing here? Why are you using the emergency key I gave you?"
It was supposed to be for emergencies only. We agreed on that. But he's standing in my living room without permission. Without warning. Like it's his right to walk in whenever he wants.
He bristles immediately. Defensive. "I came to take measurements. For the crib. Make sure it fits in the bedroom before we buy it."
"Oh." I don't know what else to say.
"What are you doing here?" he asks again. More aggressive now. Stepping further into the house. Taking up space. "Aren't you supposed to be at your fancy new job?"
There's resentment dripping from every word. Bitterness underneath.
"I needed a break," I say, keeping my voice calm.
"You better not lose that job, Lily." He moves closer. "You're going to need the money when you move out. Speaking of which." He pauses. Looks around at the boxes. "Can you hurry up? I need to get this place ready before the baby comes. There's a lot to do."
The words hit wrong. After everything today. After Luan throwing plates and yelling at me. After feeling like I'm never enough for anyone no matter how hard I try.
"I'll be out by the time I said I would." My voice is sharper now. Firmer. "A week and a half. I need time to sort my things. To find a place to live. To figure out where everything is going."
"You're being selfish."
The accusation lands like a slap.
"I'm not selfish." Heat rises in my chest. "I'm giving you a house, Henry. A house that was left to me. That I could keep. That I could sell. But I'm giving it to you because you need it."
"Aunt Carol was a two-faced bitch who only left it to you because you were her perfect little angel who never did anything wrong."
The words are vicious. Designed to hurt.
And they do.
This isn't about today. This isn't about the house. This is older. Deeper. Years of resentment built up and finally spilling over.
"Don't talk about her like that." I step toward him.
My hands are shaking. "She took us in when our parents died.
Raised us. A fifteen-year-old teenager and a five-year-old kid.
She worked herself to the bone to make sure we had food and clothes and a roof over our heads. She sacrificed everything for us."
"For you," Henry spits. "She sacrificed everything for you. I was just the problem she had to deal with."
"That's not true."
"It is true. And you know it. You were always the good one. The one who did everything right. The one she loved. I was just the screwup she had to tolerate."
"Take it back." I'm right in front of him now. Looking up at his face. "Take back what you said about her."
"No."
"Take it back."
He pushes me.
Fast. Hard. Two hands against my shoulders.
I stumble backward. Off balance. My foot catches on the leg of a chair. I'm falling.
The edge of the dining table rushes toward me.
Pain explodes across my forehead. Sharp. Blinding. My vision whites out.
I hit the floor. Hard. The impact jars through my tailbone. My hip.
Everything is ringing. Muted. Like I'm underwater.
I touch my face. My hand comes away red. Wet.
Blood.
"Lily. Oh god. Lily, I'm sorry." Henry drops to his knees beside me. Grabs my shoulders. Pulls me against his chest. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean it. Are you okay? Please be okay. I'm so sorry."
He's panicking. His voice is high. Frantic.
He kisses my forehead. Holds me too tight.
I'm stunned. Frozen. My brain trying to catch up to what just happened.
Henry pushed me. My brother. The person I've been sacrificing everything for. The person I've been protecting and helping.
He hurt me.
He's never done this before. Never been physically violent. Emotionally, yes. He's said cruel things. Manipulated me. Made me feel guilty for having things he doesn't.
But he's never put his hands on me. Never crossed that line.
Until now.
I push him away. Not hard. Just enough to create space. My hands against his chest.
Stand up. My legs are shaky but they hold.
Put distance between us. Several steps. Enough that he can't reach me without moving.
He's still on the floor. Looking up at me. Eyes wide. Scared now that the anger has burned off and reality is sinking in.
I'm cautious now. Aware. Cautious in a way I've never been with him before.
He let himself into my house when he thought I wasn't here. Got angry when I was home. Pushed me. Hurt me.
I need to be careful now. Need to navigate this without escalating it further.
"I'm fine," I say. My voice is steady. Controlled. "You need to leave."
"Lily, I didn't mean—"
"I know." I don't know if I believe that. But saying it keeps things calm. "It's fine. But you need to leave. We'll talk later. When we've both calmed down."
He hesitates. Opens his mouth like he's going to argue.
Then closes it. Nods. Stands up slowly.
Walks to the door. Stops. Looks back at me one more time. His face is a mix of shame and fear.
Then he's gone. The door closes behind him. The lock clicks into place.
I'm alone in the living room.
Blood dripping down my face. Warm and sticky.
The silence is thick. Charged. Different than any silence that's ever filled this house before.
I stand in the room where my aunt held everything together. Where she raised two orphaned kids and made a home out of nothing. Where I thought I was safe.
I touch my forehead. Wince. The cut is deep. Still bleeding.
Blood drips onto the hardwood floor. The same floor where I played as a child. Where my aunt taught me to be kind. To sacrifice. To endure.
I don't know if those lessons serve me anymore.