Chapter Four

We climbed out of the car, the quiet crunch of gravel underfoot breaking the stillness around us. I looked up at the house, expecting something warm and welcoming after the long trip.

But instead, a cold knot formed in my stomach.

The paint was chipped and faded, peeling off in places like it hadn’t been cared for in years. The windows were dusty and cracked, and the porch sagged, like it was tired of holding itself up.

The front door hung crooked on its hinges, and the whole place gave off this sad, forgotten feeling.

I swallowed hard and glanced at Aunt May, who was already frowning, her arms crossed tightly.

“This is home?” I asked quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

She gave a small shake of her head. “Not what I was expecting either.”

I felt a sudden wave of disappointment wash over me. How could this be the place where we were supposed to start over?

I hated it already.

I didn’t want to admit it out loud, but the truth was clear—this place wasn’t what I’d hoped for. Still, there was no turning back.

Aunt May gave a soft sigh and gestured toward the trunk of the car. “Let’s grab your things.”

I walked over to the back and popped the boot open. Inside, my duffel bag sat nestled among a few other boxes and bags. I grabbed it, the familiar weight comforting even in this strange new place.

Together, we made our way to the crooked front door. I hesitated for a moment, my hand hovering over the rusty doorknob, then pushed it open. The door creaked loudly on its hinges, the sound echoing through the empty house like a warning.

Inside, the air smelled stale, like it had been shut up for years. Dust floated in the weak light filtering through grimy windows, and the floorboards groaned beneath our feet.

I set my bag down with a thud and looked around.

This was home now. Whether I liked it or not.

I glanced around, feeling a little lost. Aunt May was already moving down the narrow hallway, and I followed quietly behind her.

My new room was at the end of the hall. When I pushed open the door, I saw that it was much smaller than my old room—just enough space for a bed, a small dresser, and a window that looked out at the trees.

The walls were bare and the paint was peeling a little, just like the rest of the house. There wasn’t much light coming in, and the room felt cold and empty.

I dropped my bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t my room. It wasn’t home. I slowly began to unpack my duffel bag, pulling out the clothes I had packed. One by one, I folded them carefully and put them into the small dresser drawer. The room felt even emptier as I emptied my bag.

Then, suddenly, I remembered something—I had my mom’s jacket with me. I kept it safe in the car A small smile touched my lips as I thought about it. It felt like a piece of her with me.

But when I went back outside to check the car, the jacket was gone.

I looked everywhere—the seats, the floor, even under the seats—but it wasn’t there.

My chest tightened. Where could it have gone?

My chest tightened more and more as panic started to rise. That jacket was the only memory I had left of Mom. If it was gone, then what did I have left?

Just then, a thought struck me—one of the twins must have gotten into the car earlier. I remembered seeing the grumpy one step inside for a moment before they left again.

I didn’t waste time. I grabbed my things and rushed outside, then caught the first bus back to the gas station where we had stopped earlier, hoping the twins might still be there.

When I got there, I saw the blonde girl standing by the store. I hurried over and asked, “Where’s your brother?”

She looked at me for a moment, then said, “Matisse isn’t here right now, but I think Mufasa is around the back.”

Before she could finish, I was already storming toward the back of the building.

There, standing quietly near a pile of crates, was Mufasa—and he was wearing my mom’s jacket. A cigarette hung loosely between his fingers, the smoke curling up slowly into the air.

I stepped forward, my voice sharp and angry. “Heyy!!! What do you think you’re doing with that jacket?”

Mufasa looked up slowly, a lazy smirk on his face as he took a drag from the cigarette.

Mufasa exhaled a cloud of smoke and blinked at me slowly. “Where’d you get this jacket from?” he asked, voice dripping with mock innocence.

I blinked, disbelief flashing through me. “What kind of stupid question is that? It’s my mom’s jacket.” My voice cracked, hurt and anger twisting together.

He shrugged, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “Yeah, but where did your mom get it?”

I clenched my fists, struggling to keep calm. “Can you fucking not? Just give it back.”

Mufasa said nothing, just took another slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around him like a shield. His eyes held that irritating, unreadable look—like he was enjoying every second of my frustration.

I reached out, trying to snatch the jacket from his hands, but Mufasa pulled it just out of reach. Without warning, he leaned in close and sniffed the fabric against my skin.

“What the fuck?” I gasped, stepping back, my heart pounding.

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with that same weird grin. “You smell like the moon.”

I stared at him, confused and more than a little angry. “The moon? What the hell does that even mean?”

He just shrugged, still smirking.

I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm but failing. “You better give me back that jacket, or you’re gonna smell like something a lot worse.”

Mufasa raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

I clenched my fists again, my voice low and serious. “Just give it back. Simple.”

Mufasa took one last slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around him like a lazy ghost. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he finally handed the jacket over to me.

I grabbed it without hesitation, clutching it close like it was a lifeline.

He smirked but said nothing, still dragging on his cigarette as if he hadn’t just been messing with me.

I turned away, my fingers tightening on the worn fabric. As I walked off, I muttered under my breath, “Douchebag… can’t believe this shit.”

I walked back to the house, clutching my mom’s jacket tight like it was the only thing keeping me steady. Aunt May was standing on the porch, waiting.

She looked at me and asked softly, “Where did you go?”

I swallowed and said, “My jacket… it must have fallen off the car, so I had to go find it.”

She didn’t say anything else—just nodded and said, “Okay.”

I started to turn toward my room, but she called out quietly, “Lia, I know you must be angry at me for everything, but trust me, I’m doing this for your own good.”

I paused, not looking at her.

She continued, “Friends come and go. You’ll make new ones in no time. You’re starting school tomorrow, so don’t worry about that.”

I wanted to say something, but all I could do was nod.

It was hard to believe her. Making friends felt impossible right now.

Still, I didn’t say a word. I just turned and walked inside.