Chapter 3
The notification came just after sunrise.
“Dear Ms. Sophia Grant, your one–way ticket to Norway for June 20 has been confirmed. Your father has arranged everything, and we look forward to welcoming you. He is eager to reunite.”
For a moment, I couldn’t even process it. I kept reading the message over and over, half–expecting it to vanish. But the words stayed. My father had finally done it. He’d taken me back.
I folded my arms around myself, trying to contain the rush of emotions that hit me all
at once.
Norway. In just five days. It felt like life had
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cracked open a small window–one last shot at becoming the version of me I’d buried a long time ago.
And honestly, I didn’t care that I wasn’t well. I’d been sick for years–just not always physically.
Five more days. I could make it.
“I can push through,” I murmured to the empty room. “Just five more.”
I promised myself I’d behave. Cook their favorite dishes. Clean up. Make sure everything was in order before I left. I’d exit like a ghost–quiet, unnoticed, easy to forget.
That thought nearly made me laugh.
I was still at the window when someone knocked. It was loud, sharp, impatient.
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Outside, a delivery guy stood at the gate, his cap slightly oversized. He held a medium–sized box.
“Delivery for Grant?” he asked, tipping his head.
I nodded.
“No return address. Just says, ‘Enjoy your trip.” He shrugged as he passed the box
over.
I held it for a second, my pulse ticking like it already knew something was coming. The box was firm but not heavy. Neatly taped. Crisp corners.
Inside were five sleek travel packets- first–class plane tickets, hotel bookings, new winter coats with tags still on, and full–color
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brochures for a guided trip. Everything was labeled: Oslo. Aurora Borealis. December Sky Tour. For five guests.
My legs almost buckled beneath me. Five tickets. The dream I’d buried deep inside for years was suddenly real. Crisp air, distant constellations, frozen woods–it was all right there, spelled out in vivid color.
I grabbed one of the coats, running my fingers over its plush lining. It was made in my size.
Had Elias done this?
He’d hurt me so many times before, but there were always gifts afterward–shiny peace offerings wrapped in guilt. Maybe this trip was his way of saying sorry. He knew how much I longed to see the Northern Lights.
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Hope–fragile and foolish–burned in my
chest.
Then the front door opened.
Elias walked in and stopped cold when he saw me holding the box.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snapped, his eyes narrowing.
I slowly turned, still holding one of the tickets. “I saw the package. I didn’t realize you were planning this. But… thank you, Elias. Really. I’m not angry anymore. You got the Norway trip I always wanted.”
He scoffed, striding over and snatching the ticket from my hand.
“Who ever said these were for you?”
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important anyway!”
That was the moment something inside me finally snapped.
The stairs creaked behind us.
“What’s going on?” Scarlett asked, not even looking up from her phone.
“She found the tickets,” Elias grumbled.
“Oh, that?” Scarlett rolled her eyes. “I ordered them weeks ago as a gift for Aunt Evelyn.”
A gift. My ears rang.
And me? I’d spent years giving everything- and all I got was silence, blame, and a label no one respected.
Scarlett handed me a list. “Can you pack
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these up? We’re taking them to Norway. Don’t screw it up.”
She vanished before I could say a word. I just stood there, swallowing hard.
Elias’s phone rang. I turned to leave, but his voice froze me in place.
“Hey, baby,” he cooed. “Yeah, she saw it. Don’t worry, I’ll keep her busy… I can’t wait to see the aurora borealis with you.”
That did it.
I turned away before he could see me fall apart. My hands trembled. My jaw locked so tight it throbbed.
I had never felt more discarded. Like I didn’t matter. Like I didn’t even exist.
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That night, I didn’t cry.
I packed their bags. Ironed Evelyn’s coats. Checked off everything on Scarlett’s list.
But I didn’t do it for them.
I did it so they couldn’t say I left chaos behind.
The next morning, I put on clothes I hadn’t worn in years–a beige blouse, slacks, my old brown handbag. A touch of lipstick.
The routine made me feel human again.
I walked into the lawyer’s office alone.
The waiting room was still. The receptionist offered me tea, but I waved it off. When it was my turn, I sat across from a young man in a sharp black suit.
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“I want to file for divorce,” I said, “and cut all ties with the Grant family.“”
