The Girl They Buried Came Back a Queen

###3

My brother and parents turned as well, surprise flickering across their faces.

Who could it be?

Weren’t they the ones who told the prison guards to "keep an eye on" me?

I said nothing, forcing down the bitterness rising in my throat. Daniel reached for my collar, clearly trying to confirm something for himself.

Before he could, Delilah suddenly shrieked from across the table.

"My hand! It’s burning!"

She held up her finger, a faint red mark where the edge of the hotpot had touched her. Tears welled in her eyes.

The entire family sprang into action.

Her mother rushed to her side, cradling her hand like porcelain. Without hesitation, Daniel scooped her up into his arms.

“I’ll take her to the hospital,” he barked, already halfway out the door.

I turned my head away, expressionless. I’d seen enough. I was just about to leave when a voice called out behind me.

"Are you Ava?"

I turned.

A bearded, middle-aged man approached with familiarity in his eyes.

"Director Jake? You... know me?"

It was Jake Easton—the internationally acclaimed director. He laughed, stroking his beard. "Of course I do. I saw a short film you directed and starred in. You left a lasting impression. I thought—here’s someone with real talent. Real presence. I had to find you."

My breath caught. Joy surged through me, but I looked down, voice hoarse with shame.

"But... I don’t think you know—I just got out of prison..."

He looked me in the eye, calm and assured. "I know. That’s why I came today. Ava, how would you like to come to Hollywood and become a star? You’ve got what it takes."

I stared at him, stunned. For the first time in years, I felt my heart flutter back to life.

"I—I’d love to, Director Jake."

"Good!" he beamed. "We’ll leave in a week. Rest up."

A week. Just seven days until I start over.

With that faint spark of hope, I returned to what used to be home. I punched in the passcode I’d memorized long ago, but the cold, mechanical voice repeated:

“Incorrect password.”

Again and again. Still wrong.

I waited in the blistering heat, sweat soaking my back, my head swimming as the sun began to set. Just as I was starting to feel faint, they returned—carrying Delilah.

I watched as my brother stepped forward and entered a new code.

The door clicked open.

He’d changed it... to Delilah’s birthday. My birthday, too—but no one seemed to remember that.

I bit down the sting in my nose and quietly followed him inside, heading straight for my old room.

"Wait," he called after me.

"Delilah’s dog really likes your room. We’ve turned it into a pet space now. But don’t worry—Delilah picked out a new room just for you."

I stopped in my tracks.

"She decorated it herself to welcome you back. She’s even forgiven us all. You should learn from her—try being more kind."

He said it without turning around, as if even facing me for another second was too much.

He led me down the hall to the far end of the house.

The “new room” was the old utility closet. Tiny, with barely a window—more like a vent. The walls reeked of mold, and the air was damp and stale.

So this... this was what they called kindness?

Never mind. I just have to survive seven more days.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the door—only to be greeted by a room full of flowers.

My throat closed up.

Pollen.

I was severely allergic.

Within seconds, I was on the floor, struggling to breathe, my skin prickling, my vision blurring. I crawled, trembling, searching desperately for my bag.

That’s when I saw a pair of designer heels stop in front of me.

"Sister, oh my—what are you doing on the floor?"

Delilah’s sweet, mocking voice rang out.

"Please... allergy medicine..." I gasped.

She followed my desperate gaze to the bag.

Then she smiled.

With a kick, she sent it skidding across the room.

She squatted beside me, leaning in close. Her breath was sugary sweet and venomous.

"Bitch, you dare come back? After everything? If I were you, I’d have smashed my head into a wall from the shame."

I tried to shove her away, wanting to scream, to ask why she’d done this.

But the moment my hand brushed her leg, she shrieked and collapsed to the ground.

Holding her leg, she burst into tears.

"Hey, why would you hit me? I tried so hard to make you feel welcome—why are you so cruel?"

That was the moment my parents arrived in the doorway.