Chapter 157
Doctor Penny Carter lives on a nice, quiet, tree–lined street in Roscoe Village.
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1 park Louise’s Honda in the driveway and stare up at her house–two stories tall with soft gray paint and white trim, a wide front porch with a few steps leading up, and flower boxes under the windows bursting with red and pink blooms.
Big old trees stand on either side, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. The windows reflect the warm, golden sunset.
It looks peaceful–the kind of home that raises happy children, houses a happy family.
I knock on the door once, and five seconds later, it opens.
My gaze is immediately drawn down. I blink at the caramel–skinned child before me. Her thick, curly hair is a wild halo around her face, and she pushes glasses up the bridge of her nose as she looks up at me. “Are you April?”
My lip twitches. “Are you Jackie?”
She beams, dancing on the heels of her feet. “I am!”
“Jaqueline Soo–min Carter, what have I told you about answering the–April!”
Penny skids to a halt behind her daughter, her eyes lighting up at the sight of me. She’s dressed in a pair of sweats and the same T–shirt she wore that night June had the allergic reaction.
I wave. “Hi.”
Jackie turns to her mom. “It’s June’s sister, Mom.”
Penny’s hand momentarily disappears in Jackie’s curls as she ruffles her hair. “I know. Go let June know.”
Jackie takes off into the house.
“No running!” Penny calls out, but the thundering footsteps don’t ease.
Rolling her eyes fondly, she turns back to me. “Hi, dear.” She reaches out and takes my hand. “Come in.”
As soon as I step in, an oddly nice combination of cinnamon and lemon soap hits me.
The foyer is long–a rectangle of warm hardwood floor overlain with a slightly worn rug. Two armchairs sit against the wall, three pairs of sneakers–one of which I recognize as June’s–are tucked beneath them.
Above the arch leading into the house is a large, framed picture–Penny with one arm around Jackie and another around an identical boy, who must be Jamie,
“We just finished breakfast,” Penny calls over her shoulder as we walk further into the house. “I made a lot, in case you wanted some.”
To the right is the living room. A large couch faces a simple wooden coffee table, framed on both sides by matching armchairs.
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Chapter 157
I pause, tilting my head. In the middle of the room is a blanket fort–sheets pulled over chairs and cushions, with some books stacked to hold the corners down.
Penny notices where my attention is directed and chuckles fondly. “Yeah, they made that last night when I told June you were coming today. One last hurrah.”
I turn to her, and something clogs my throat. “Did they… Did she-”
She smiles and squeezes my shoulder. “They did. She did.”
“Spring!”
1 stagger back as June catapults into my arms.
Something pops inside me, and a pressure I didn’t even realize was there disappears like air out of a balloon.
“Summer,” I exhale, pulling my sister to me.
Her arms tighten round my waist, and I duck my head, inhaling her familiar scent, mixed with something lemony that must be detergent.
“Oh, my baby.” I kiss her hair. “I missed you so much.”
She pulls back and looks up at me, her eyes twinkling. “I missed you, too.”
I brush her hair back, my eyes zeroing in on the small two–inch scar on her temple, just below her hairline–a thin pink line, slightly
raised.
There’s no swelling, and the scab is mostly healed, but the skin still looks tight and new. It stands out against the rest of her smooth face, quiet but visible.
It might fade, but it will never disappear–a constant reminder.
June swats my hand away, brushing her hair back over her forehead. She takes my hand and pulls me further into the house. “Come on.”
She takes me into the kitchen. Brightly lit and oddly clean, considering two ten–year–olds–and a nine–year–old, I guess–live here. Little crayon artworks dot the space, probably courtesy of Jamie, the artsy one.
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Winning the Heir Who Bullied Me
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
