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She’s doing everything right with Mae, and it still isn’t enough. I see the ache written across her face. The shame in her eyes. The way she keeps her voice steady even though she’s barely holding it together.

She’s not faking it. I can tell this isn’t for show, and I don’t know what to do with that information.

I should go inside and pretend I didn’t see any of this, but I don’t. I stay and watch. Because I can’t seem to stop.

She flips another page, glancing up again at Mae, who continues to cross her arms and then shifts away another inch.

Ani sits back on her heels and closes the book slowly. She rests it in her lap and just stays there. She looks defeated, but she isn’t walking away.

She’s trouble. I know that in my gut.

But I’m already in deeper than I meant to be. And I’m not sure I even want to change that.

Chapter 12

Ani

Mae is on the floor with her stuffed fox next to her—bare feet tucked under her, with a puzzle spread out across the rug. She’s staring at it with intensity.

She doesn’t look up as I move through the room. Not even a glance. The girl has made an art out of completely ignoring my existence. And it's really starting to sting.

I crouch near the edge of the coffee table, far enough to give her space, close enough to let her know I’m still here.

“That corner area looks tricky,” I say, nodding toward the pieces she’s currently working on.

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even move.

I reach slowly toward the pile, careful not to touch the completed portion, and pick up one piece. Mae’s eyes flick toward me. Just for a second.

Then she takes the piece from my fingers and sets it aside, away from the puzzle. Her jaw tightens.

I nod and sit back on my heels.

“Okay.”

She resumes placing pieces. I stay quiet, watching the way her brow furrows as she rotates each shape, how she double-checks every edge before trying to fit one into place. When sherealizes I’m not going anywhere, she deliberately adjusts her position so her body is between me and the puzzle.

She’s just a broken kid and this shouldn’t hurt.

I’ve only been here a few days. I’m a stranger in her world. But still, the rejection bites. I want her to let me in. Just a word, a glance,something.

Instead, I get this wall of silence.

I shift to the side, settling onto the floor with a book I grabbed from the shelf earlier. It’s one of those soft-edged picture books meant for younger kids. Simple story, bright colors. I don’t know if she’s too old for it, but I open it anyway and begin to read aloud.

I keep my voice quiet, but I animate the story as much as I can. I make up voices for the different characters and emphasize certain words when it feels like they need a little extra oomph.

But she pays me no attention.

I keep going, page after page, eyes flicking to her face between each one. She’s still working on the puzzle. Still ignoring me. But her head turns just slightly, and I catch the edge of her gaze.

She sees me. She just doesn’t want me to know.

I finish the book and close it slowly. I don’t ask if she liked it or if she wants another. I set it beside me and pretend I’m not watching her.

She leans forward and fits two pieces together in quick succession.

Later, I try again. This time with crayons. I spread them out on the table, pull a sheet of paper in front of me, and begin drawing little flowers with looping stems and wide petals.