Harper beamed as she chatted non-stop, walking alongside her younger sister down the frost-bitten sidewalk. Her voice was animated, her eyes alight with energy as she recounted cheer practice. Aura, carrying a slightly scuffed soccer ball tucked between her arm and palm, offered a small smile, nodding as she listened. The sisters turned onto their street, their boots crunching softly over the thin layer of snow dusting the pavement.
As they approached their house, both were still caught up in the lightness of the moment—until they stepped inside and the air instantly shifted.
Standing in front of them expected nor wanted to see.
Cecilia Rhodes.
She wore a tailored cream coat with a fur-lined collar and crisp white gloves, her signature sunglasses perched atop a flawless head of silvery curls—styled to perfection, as always. Her presence was a deliberate spectacle. Even in the dead of winter, she dressed as if she were attending a gala. The scent of expensive perfume followed her like a warning.
"Ah... Grandma" Harper said hesitantly, slowing to a stop. "Hi."
"Just the girl I wanted to see." Cecilia replied coolly, removing her gloves one finger at a time. "Come and sit down."
Harper's eyes flicked to Aura's. That familiar jolt of dread struck them both like a silent lightning bolt. Grandma Cecilia never came by without a motive—especially not unannounced. Her visits were calculated, always under the guise of 'family maintenance,' but really just thinly veiled inspections. Over the years, Camila had stopped resisting and simply handed the reins over to her mother, either out of fatigue or fear. Probably both.
Cecilia was known across their elite social circle as unrelenting—a retired fashion icon turned social hawk who clung tightly to image, power, and control. She often boasted about molding Camila into the perfect society wife and mother. Her other daughter, Julia, was her cautionary tale—a wild, rebellious disappointment Cecilia never failed to trash over afternoon drinks.
To Cecilia, Harper and Jackson were Julia's echoes: too loud, too unruly, too real.
Harper hesitated at the threshold before slowly setting her backpack down. She followed the sound of clinking china into the dining room, where her mother already sat—her posture wilted, her hands nervously twisting the gold band on her finger. Camila looked like a ghost of herself—delicate, brittle. Eyes that once held pride now seemed full of shame.
Harper's heart dropped.
"What's going on?" she asked cautiously, scanning both women's faces.
Cecilia leaned forward, her long fingers tapping the rim of a porcelain teacup. "Well, Harper, your mother and I were having a conversation. I asked how things were at school. And she happened to mention... that you're dating this Josie girl, and it's becoming quite... serious."
Harper froze. "Yeah."
"And what do you think your poor mother thinks about that?"
Harper glanced at Camila. "I mean... we haven't really talked about it since Aura and Jackson's birthday."
Camila's eyes met hers briefly, then drifted down to her lap.
"I'm not okay with it." she said quietly.
Harper blinked. "...Wait, what?"
Her voice cracked with disbelief. "What do you mean? Where is this coming from?"
Camila didn't respond.
Cecilia extinguished her cigarette in a nearby ashtray with a sharp, deliberate twist. The sound echoed in the silence. Her tone was now clipped, laced with disdain.
"What we understand is that you're going through a phase, Harper. Some confused little chapter of rebellion. But you need to remember who you are—and more importantly, who this family is."
She folded her hands neatly on the table.
"People are talking, Harper. About you. About us. And it's not a flattering story. So, we're offering you two choices. One: you come to your senses. Find a nice boy. Move on from this nonsense. Or two: if you insist this is who you are, we'll arrange a stay at a camp that specialises in this sort of behaviour. Camp Redemption it is called. Brilliant place."
Harper's mouth opened, then closed again. Her chest tightened. For a moment, it felt like the room was spinning.
"A conversion camp?" she finally choked out. "You're joking—right?! Do you even know what they do to people in those places?! They hurt them. They break them down. You'd send me to that?"
She turned sharply to her mother.
"Mom—say something! You can't let her talk like this! You know what happens in those places!"
Camila's hands were shaking now. She couldn't look up. Her silence was deafening.
She wanted to speak. She wanted to say it wasn't true, that she wouldn't let it happen—but she couldn't. Because standing up to her mother would mean standing with Julia. With failure. With shame.
And Harper reminded her too much of Julia.
Cecilia, ever the puppeteer, cut back in.
"Some kids don't even get a choice, Harper" she said, as if this was a kindness. "You should be grateful we're giving you options."
Harper stood abruptly, tears burning in her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as she grabbed her backpack and bolted from the room. Her footsteps pounded up the stairs before she slammed her bedroom door behind her and collapsed face-first onto her bed, sobbing into her pillow.
Downstairs, the silence was broken only by her grandmother's sardonic chuckle.
"Well. That was awkward. Hopefully, she got the message."
Camila looked up at her mother, guilt brimming behind her eyes.
"Don't you think that was a little... harsh?"
"Harsh?! Nonsense" Cecilia scoffed. "She needed to hear it. I was at the country club yesterday and someone asked me about it. I nearly had a stroke!."
She lit another cigarette, waving her hand dismissively.
"You remember when your sister tried the same thing back in college? We sent her to camp, and she came back normal. Harper will be fine. She's just a dramatic teenager playing pretend."
Camila's voice wavered. "But—"
"No, Camila!" Cecilia snapped. "You and Thomas need to get your house in order. If she steps out of line again, we'll be the laughingstock of Glenwood. I put too much effort into shaping this family. I won't let it all unravel because one child wants to cause a scene."
Camila looked away, her shoulders heavy with shame. In that moment, she wasn't a mother—just a daughter, cornered by fear.
Upstairs, Harper and Jackson were counting down the days until their grandmothers funeral.