Three Days After My Mother Died My Father Brought His Bastard Daughter Home Chapter 1

The day I was brought to the Redwood house, I was a secret made flesh. And Owen, my half-brother, shattered every piece of furniture he could get his hands on.

"My mother has been dead for three days! And you bring this… thing into her house?"

"A sister? I don't have a goddamn sister!"

Shards of glass from a shattered vase nearly sliced my eye open. The shock of it all stole my voice, clamping my throat shut until not a single sound could escape.

My father had brought me here, but that was the extent of his involvement. He never looked at me, never spoke to me. Owen hated me, which meant he ignored me completely.

Later, when the Redwood fortune crumbled and our father was gone, I was the only family he had left.

Owen grabbed my tiny arm, ready to throw me out onto the street. The tears I had held back for so long finally broke free. I clung to his leg, my sealed lips finally parting, forcing out broken, clumsy words.

"Owen… I'll be good. Please… don't throw me away…"

* * *

Owen Redwood hated me.

I learned this on my very first night in his house.

I was sitting on a velvet sofa, my small hands turning over the brand-new Barbie my father had bought me. Owen walked in, his school backpack slung over one shoulder, his face a mask of indifference.

The first time he saw me, his voice was flat, lifeless.

"Whose kid are you?"

I scrambled off the sofa, suddenly self-conscious, hiding the doll behind my back. "Dad brought me," I whispered.

Owen tilted his head, repeating the word without any inflection, as if it were foreign.

"Dad?"

Just then, my father's voice drifted down from the second-floor landing. He was wearing a silk robe, a placid smile on his face.

"Owen, you're home. Come meet your sister. She’s only four. Her name is Poppy. From now on, we’re all a family. You're the big brother, so you need to take care of her."

My eyes widened with a cautious sort of wonder.

Before this, I’d lived with a nanny in a small town down south. Dad didn’t visit often. The nanny rarely fed me enough and always called me the child of a homewrecker. She said my mother was Dad’s mistress, that she’d used my existence to squeeze a fortune out of him.

The neighborhood kids would point and shout names at me—dirty little secret, bastard child. I didn't understand all the words, but I understood the feeling behind them. I was a child who was meant to be hated.

Then, yesterday, Dad had shown up out of the blue and said he was taking me to a new home.

I peeked at the boy in front of me, a tiny bud of happiness blooming in my chest.

I have a brother.

I bit my lip and took a hesitant step forward, my hand reaching out to take his.

"Hi, Owen."

He stared at me for a long moment, and then a strange, brittle laugh escaped his lips. As he laughed, his eyes slowly filled with red.

He dropped his backpack, jerked his hand away from mine, and snatched a water glass from a side table. With a furious roar, he hurled it toward the second floor.

"My mother has been dead for three days! And you bring this… thing into her house?"

"A sister? I don't have a goddamn sister!"

It was like a dam had broken inside him. He was gasping for breath, his chest heaving. He kicked a chair over, sending it crashing into the wall.

A vase. An ashtray.

Anything within his line of sight, he grabbed and smashed onto the floor. He screamed like a caged animal, his rage directed at our father, who watched from the landing with an unnerving calm.

I was frozen, paralyzed by the storm of his fury.

Then, an explosion of sound erupted right next to my ear.

A sliver of broken glass shot past my face, so close I felt its wind.

My mouth fell open. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. A wave of pure, absolute terror washed over me, and from that moment on, I couldn't speak another word.