Chapter 1
My stepmother pushed me into the deep end of the pool behind our mansion.
No warning.
No shout.
Just two hands against my back.
Then the world disappeared beneath cold blue water.
I hit hard.
Water rushed into my nose.
My dress ballooned around me, then dragged me down like wet hands grabbing my legs.
I kicked.
I clawed.
I couldn’t swim.
Victoria knew that.
She had known since the first week she married my father, when I refused to go near the pool during her “family bonding” afternoon.
I came up choking.
“Help!” I screamed.
Victoria stood at the edge in her white linen pants, holding a towel over one arm like she was watching a resort show.
She laughed.
“Learn to swim or drown, Emma.”
My arms slapped the water.
My shoes slipped off.
The deep end pulled me under again.
For one awful second, all I saw was sunlight breaking apart above me.
I thought of my father.
Of how he always believed Victoria.
Of how every bruise became clumsiness.
Every missing dinner became my attitude.
Every locked door became discipline.
I fought upward.
My mouth broke the surface.
“Please!”
Victoria tilted her head.
“You always make everything dramatic.”
I reached blindly.
My fingers scraped concrete.
The pool edge.
I grabbed it with both hands and held on so tightly my nails bent.
Victoria’s smile faded.
“No.”
She stepped closer.
Her foot lifted.
She was going to kick my fingers loose.
Something wild woke up inside me.
I reached up with one hand and caught the front of her blouse.
Then I pulled with every bit of terror I had.
Victoria screamed.
Her arms flew out.
She slipped forward and crashed into the pool beside me.
The splash shoved water into my face.
I didn’t wait.
I dragged myself along the edge, found the ladder, and climbed with shaking legs.
Victoria surfaced behind me, coughing and furious.
“You little animal!”
I ran.
Barefoot.
Soaking wet.
Across the stone patio.
Through the back doors.
Up the curved staircase.
Straight into my bedroom.
I slammed the door, locked it, and slid down against it.
My chest hurt.
My lungs burned.
My whole body shook.
She would tell Dad I attacked her.
She would cry.
She would say I dragged her into the pool because I hated her.
And Dad would believe her.
He always did.
Then I heard a soft knock.
Not Victoria.
Not angry.
Careful.
“Miss Emma?”
Mr. Henderson.
The gardener.
I wiped my face with trembling hands and opened the door a crack.
He stood in the hallway, still wearing his work gloves.
His face was pale.
In his hand was his phone.
“I saw everything,” he said.
My throat tightened.
“What?”
“I recorded it.”
“But Victoria told you to turn off the backyard cameras.”
“She did,” he said. “So I used my phone.”
He looked toward the stairs.
“I had a bad feeling.”
He pressed play.
There I was.
Standing by the pool.
Victoria behind me.
The push.
The water.
Her laughing.
Her foot moving toward my hands.
Me pulling her in.
Every second.
Proof.
Real proof.
For the first time in years, I felt something almost like air.
“Dad will finally know,” I whispered.
Mr. Henderson didn’t smile.
“Your father is on his way home.”
Hope rose so fast it hurt.
Then Mr. Henderson’s face changed.
He looked down at the phone.
“There’s more.”
The video continued after I ran inside.
Victoria climbed out of the pool, dripping and shaking with rage.
She looked toward the house.
Then toward the garden shed.
She walked inside and came back carrying a large rock with both hands.
My stomach twisted.
She carried it to the deep end.
Then she dropped it into the water.
It sank fast.
Victoria smiled.
Then she walked toward the house.
I looked up at Mr. Henderson.
“Why would she do that?”
His eyes met mine.
May you like
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“That is not the first rock she has dropped in that pool, miss.”
