Emma
By the time we got back to the cottage, Zoey was already half-asleep on my shoulder. The door stuck like always, and I had to shove it with my hip to get it open. The smell hit me first — last night's cigarettes and something sour from the kitchen bin. I wrinkled my nose and carried Zoey straight upstairs.
The twins' bedroom door was half open, revealing a mess of tangled hair, blankets, and muddy clothes abandoned on the floor. Typical. Teddy's room was empty — he'd slipped out early, no doubt trying to look tough in front of his friends. I tucked Zoey into her cot and smoothed her hair before heading back down.
Mum was on the sofa, same as last night, same as most mornings. She wasn't asleep, but her eyes were glazed as she stared at the flickering TV. A mug of tea sat on the coffee table, untouched, gone cold hours ago.
"Hello, mum," I said quietly.
She didn't answer. Her gaze stayed fixed on the screen, where some game show host shouted and the audience clapped on cue. I swallowed the knot in my throat.
The kitchen looked like a bomb site — plates stacked in the sink, cereal spilled across the counter, a carton of milk tipped sideways and leaking. Dad would sigh and tidy when he came home, but he'd been gone for days working on one of the big houses across the lake. That meant it was up to me. It was always up to me.
I rolled up my sleeves and started with the washing up. Hot water, suds, the scrape of plates. Then the laundry —clothes piled high in the basket, smelling of grass and sweat and the faint smoke that clung to Teddy's jumpers. I shoved them into the machine, trying not to think about how many times Mum had promised she'd do it herself.
By the time the twins crashed through the front door, I had toast on the table and Zoey awake in her highchair, banging a spoon like it was a drum.
"Race you to the shower!" Lucy shouted, darting past me.
"Not fair, you had a head start!" Lily shrieked, chasing after her.
"Shoes off first!" I called, but they were already halfway upstairs, trailing mud across the hallway carpet. I closed my eyes, counting to three, before deciding the mud could wait.
Teddy finally came home around five in the afternoon, tossing his bike against the fence and stomping into the kitchen. His face was pale, eyes too bright, and he smelled like smoke again.
"Where've you been?" I asked, folding a tea towel.
"Out," he said, grabbing a slice of toast without meeting my eyes.
"Teddy —"
"Don't start, Em." His jaw clenched. "You're not Mum."
No, I wasn't. But someone had to be.
Later that evening, the house was quieter. The twins with their hair still damp from the shower were kicking a football out front . Zoey curled against me, her head heavy on my chest. Mum had retreated to her room, door closed, and the hum of the TV was finally gone.
I sat there, surrounded by the noise of pencils scratching, the smell of toast lingering in the air, and thought about the boy from the woods. Tommy. With his shiny hair and easy smile. His clean clothes and books that looked untouched by anyone else's hands.
We lived in two different worlds. But for the first time in a long time, I wondered what it might feel like to step out of mine, even just for a little while.
Tommy
The house my parents had bought on the lake was the biggest one on the row. At least, that's what Mother kept reminding anyone who visited.
"It was the only property with proper frontage," she said for the fifth time that week, standing at the tall windows and staring out at the water as though she owned it all. "The others are so cramped. Honestly, I don't know how people can stand it."
Nothing was ever good enough for her. The wallpaper was dated, the furniture was "common," the neighbours were "not our kind." She floated through the house in silk dresses and sharp perfume, talking about redecorating while rolling her eyes at Father's clients on the phone.
Father, meanwhile, was rarely home. When he was, he sat in the leather chair in the study, shouting into the phone about billable hours and mergers, his voice clipped and sharp. He was a man who knew everyone worth knowing, or at least that's what he said, and he never let us forget it.
I was the eldest. That meant I was supposed to set the example. Keep my brothers in line. Live up to whatever impossible standard Father had mapped out in his head.
Jack, thirteen, was already half-wild, his laugh loud and reckless, the kind that carried across the lake. He'd invited two friends from the city to spend the holiday with us, and they spent their days racing each other on their bikes and throwing footballs into the water. Alex, eleven, trailed after them, desperate to keep up, grinning whenever they let him join in.
The house was full of noise and people. And yet, somehow, I felt lonely in it.
I stayed out of the way when I could. Read books in the shade of the veranda, took long walks around the lake, anywhere to escape the constant noise. Which was how I'd found her.
Emma.
I couldn't stop thinking about her. The way her voice carried both strength and caution. The way she held the little one — Zoey — with such care, like she was more mother than sister. Most girls I knew were loud, polished, trained to impress. Emma wasn't like that. She was… real.
At dinner that night, Mother was lecturing Jack and Alex about table manners, Father was recounting some case to anyone who would listen, and I was silent.
"Tommy," Father
snapped, pulling me back from my thoughts. "You're quiet again. Don't just sit there like a statue. Tell us something useful you've done today."
I swallowed, the words stuck in my throat.
I met a girl, I wanted to say.
She's different from anyone I've ever known. She makes me want to be someone else.
But I didn't.
Instead, I muttered, "Just reading."
Father sighed, disappointed. Mother gave me a look that said I'd failed yet another invisible test. Jack smirked across the table, Alex snickered into his juice.
I excused myself as soon as I could and slipped upstairs. From my window, I could see the line of trees on the other side of the lake. Somewhere beyond them, Emma was probably cooking dinner for her siblings or some other chore.
I wished, more than anything, that I could be there instead.