Part 2The War Correspondent's Homecoming

I touched my stinging cheek and looked up in disbelief.

"So the little bird's finally grown her wings, has she? Off to be a big war correspondent? What are you even doing back here?"

I took a deep breath. "Mom, Russell married Pamela. They have a child together. Did you know that?"

My mother's expression didn't so much as flicker. "Of course I knew. Both our families threw the wedding together."

"What did you just say?" My eyes went wide, and the words came out before I could stop them. "I'm Russell's wife. I'm your daughter. How could you—"

"And you still have the nerve to say that!"

My father stormed out at the sound of her voice, his face dark as a storm cloud. "We told you not to go overseas, and you had to go anyway. You had a good life here, and you threw it away to go get yourself killed in that place.

"You went missing two years ago. We all thought you were dead. Your mother cried herself sick every single day.

"And here you are, alive this whole time, without so much as a phone call—and the second you show up, you barge in here making accusations?"

I was about to explain myself when the doorbell rang.

Russell and Pamela walked in with the child.

"Dad, Mom," Pamela called out sweetly.

My mother's face lit up as she hurried over. "Oh, there's my darling daughter. Come in, come in."

She scooped the baby out of Pamela's arms. "Is Teddy hungry? Grandma will make you something delicious."

Daughter? Grandma?

Watching the scene unfold in front of me felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

Pamela spotted me and gave an awkward little smile. "Harper, you're here too?"

"Don't call me that. I don't have a friend like you.

"Feeling pretty pleased with yourself, aren't you? Stealing my husband and my family."

My mother rounded on me, her eyes red with fury. "Harper, watch your mouth! Do you have to turn this whole house upside down?

"We watched Pamela grow up. She's always been sweeter and more considerate than you, more devoted to us. She's the one who's looked after your father and me all these years. Not like you—an ungrateful wretch."

I looked at Russell. He glanced away, guilt written across his face.

Back when I'd wanted the overseas post, both families had been dead set against it. It was Russell who'd shouldered all the pressure and helped me go anyway.

The day I left, we'd held each other at the airport for the longest time. He'd kissed my forehead and said, "Harper, go do whatever it is you want to do. I'll always be right behind you."

But now, with my parents laying into me, he didn't say a single word in my defense.

In the end, it was Pamela who smoothed things over. "Mom, don't be upset. Harper's finally back after all this time—let's just have a family dinner together."

At the table, the five of them sat down together. I was pushed off into a corner, and nobody even bothered to set a place for me.

My mother kept piling food onto Pamela's plate like she was afraid the girl might go hungry. My father spent the whole meal making the baby laugh, then slipped a fat little envelope of cash into his hands.

They talked about everyday things—the company's latest project, what the baby would need for preschool. And I sat there like I was invisible.

The food in my mouth turned tasteless, like chewing on wax. I set down my fork and stood.

"I'm full."

Their attention stayed fixed on the baby. Nobody so much as looked my way.

I walked out of the Eastwood estate into a night wind that cut straight through me.

That was when I remembered my old job. I rushed home and dug out the computer I used to use—it still had years of footage and material from the war zone saved on it.

I logged into my work account, meaning to upload the videos, only to find the account had been deactivated.

The next morning, I went straight to the station. A young woman at the front desk stopped me. "You can't come in without a staff badge."

"My name is Harper Eastwood. This station sent me to Veyland as a correspondent, and I'm here to apply to get my old position back."

She checked her computer and froze. "Harper Eastwood... that name's already been deactivated. And besides, someone else already has that position."

"Someone else? Who?"

The corner of her mouth curled up. "Pamela Hester, of course. She's the youngest senior correspondent we've got—she just won an international award not long ago."