Page 78 of Glass

My breath catches in my chest. These were the things she wanted to take. The only things.

And I stopped her from getting them.

I threw her out.

And then I’m up, sprinting down the hall, taking the stairs three at a time and flying out of the door. “Stasi!”

She can’t possibly hear me. How could she?

But my feet eat up the space between us, pounding at the gravel as I run, faster than I’ve ever fucking run before. The wind whips against my face as I race through the gates, trying desperately to catch just a glimpse of the cab lights.

Maybe, just maybe, they’ve stopped. Pulled over.

I don’t know how I’m ever going to find her otherwise.

I let her go.

Imadeher go.

Please. I’m sorry. Please.

Because I think I’ve just made a mistake. A fucking terrible mistake.

The image of Angelica’s nails digging into her skin rips into me, and I roar her name again.

And again.

Even as I have to stop, my breathing jagged as my lungs scream for air, and there’s still no sign of her.

She’s gone.

And I let it happen.Madeit happen, in my anger, too furious to see what she was trying to tell me, even as she begged. Instead I dragged her out, making her leave her things behind, throwing her at her vile mother as if I was tossing out the trash.

My eyes close.

I don’t know what to do. How to fix this.

But my dad will.

It takes me longer to make my way back to the house. As I reach the courtyard, an engine rumbles behind me, and I whirl around in sudden, desperate hope.

But it’s not her.

Instead, my father pulls up, headlights flashing over my face. The doors open, footsteps crunching on the gravel, and he’s there, his hands on my shoulders.

“What is it?” he says, his head spinning towards the house. “The twins? What happened, Silas?”

I stare at him wordlessly. I don’t even know how to explain it.

But slowly, the words start to tumble out. My father takes a step back, his face paling. His hands fall away from my shoulders as he turns towards the house.

He doesn’t love Angelica. Not the way he loved my mother. I know that. But he liked her well enough, enjoyed her company.

I follow him upstairs, right behind him as he ducks into their bedroom.

“Dad,” I say hoarsely. “I need… Ineedyou to find Anastasia.”

But he’s not listening. He’s digging through the drawer next to his side of the bed, muttering furiously.