CHAPTER 1

Iyla

“THE TEST RESULTS ARE STILL inconclusive. I was hoping I’d have an answer for you by now, but unfortunately, we still don’t have one.”

My heart clenched painfully, and I bunched the fabric of my shirt in my hands in an effort to do something . All the hope I’d had when walking into this room vanished as easily as it had come.

“So what now?” Mom questioned, her voice taking on that all-too-familiar edge.

Dr. Seward folded his hands on top of the desk and handled my mother’s clear disappointment—if not contempt—with ease, no doubt used to her by now. “We keep testing and monitoring her. There’s an answer out there somewhere. We just haven’t found it, yet.”

My mother’s lips curled in disapproval, and her huff was overly loud, as if she wanted to take extra care to make her annoyance known. “How is it that in this day and age, a little girl can be sick, and you doctors don’t know what’s wrong?”

“It’s frustrating,” Dr. Seward admitted with a nod. “But I assure you, we are remaining diligent and hopeful. I really think we’re getting closer to an answer, and until then, we’ll continue to treat her symptoms as we determine the accurate diagnosis.”

I understood Mom’s exasperation. I wanted a solution for Gemma just as badly, but I also tried to remind myself that Dr. Seward was doing all he could. Taking her anger out on him wouldn’t get us anywhere.

I scooted to the edge of the leather seat and leaned toward Dr. Seward. “How is she doing?”

Dr. Seward’s blue eyes softened as they met mine, and he offered me a small smile. “She actually had a pretty good day yesterday. She managed to eat all her meals and keep the food down. A nurse even reported that Gemma played all afternoon with the other kids. Dolls. Board games. She didn’t have any fainting spells.”

It was a small victory, but it was great news all the same. The mental image of Gemma smiling and having a day of fun with the other kids here made the rock in my gut easier to stomach. One day, we’d find out what illness she had, and we’d be able to get her the cure she needed.

It was just going to take a little longer.

“Can we see her before we go?” I asked a bit too eagerly, which earned me a biting sideways look from my mother.

Dr. Seward hesitated, but with some reluctance, he said, “If you make it quick. She’s been on the lethargic side today, so I want her to rest.”

Desperate for even a moment with her, I nodded quickly. “I’ll make it fast.”

I pushed back my chair and immediately turned down the hallway that led to my little sister’s room. I smiled and waved at the nurses as I walked past, telling them good morning. All the nurses here were kind and friendly, and we’d grown even closer as my mother and I visited regularly. Though, even as I developed friendships with the staff, it was never them I was here to see.

I swallowed hard, a real smile climbing my face when I rounded the corner to stand in the doorway. Gemma sat up in her bed with a coloring book and pencils spread out on her tray table. Her shoulder-length brown hair, once shiny like mine but now dull and thin, was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and today’s gown—a dusty pink with white clouds—hung off her thin form.

Whatever she was coloring had her full attention. She didn’t notice me leaning on the doorframe, and I didn’t mind. It gave me time to just watch her little hands switch between pencils before going back to work on her design. I needed this second of invisibility to gather myself and to train my face not to let on how broken and helpless I felt over her situation.

Steeling myself, I walked into the room. Gemma finally noticed me, and when her hazel eyes found me, her face instantly brightened.

“Iyla!” she squealed.

I darted to her bedside and wrapped my arms around her. Lead filled my gut when I felt how small she’d gotten, but I kept the worry off my face as I leaned back to look down at her. “Surprise!”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she chirped.

“Always, Gem,” I said, running a hand over the top of her head.

She glanced over my shoulder, and without even looking, I knew what figure waltzed in behind me. There was no missing the distinct click of her heels or the scent of her expensive floral perfume flooding the room.

Understanding crossed Gemma’s face. “Oh. You were meeting with Dr. Seward.”

Not wanting her to worry, I tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and said, “He was just giving us an update on how you were feeling. Nothing bad. Right, Mom?”

Mom ignored me. She stood beside the bed and ran her hand over the top of Gemma’s head. “How are you feeling today?”

Gemma took on a forlorn expression. “Tired. I’ve been coloring to help. Noya said it helps with fatigue and keeping my brain engaged. Reduces stress.”

“You’re stressed?” Mom asked sharply, her slender brows plunging down. “Are they not helping you? Making you feel at ease?”

“Mom,” I whispered, noticing the alarm in Gemma’s eyes.

“They do,” Gemma quickly reassured. “I really like all of them. They’re nice and helpful.”

“Clearly not enough,” Mom grumbled. “I’ll speak to the nursing supervisor as we leave to make sure your schedule and health plan are good enough.”

Guilt seeped into the lines of Gemma’s face. Mom was going to make a big deal out of nothing like always, no doubt griping at and belittling the people taking care of Gemma. Now Gemma was going to carry that with her, thinking it was her fault that Noya and the others got in trouble.

The only one causing her stress is you , I thought to myself as I stared at Mom. I wouldn’t dare say that aloud, though.

Seeking to distract Gemma from our mom’s continuous glowering, I pointed at the drawing on the table that sat across her lap. “What are you coloring?”

Her weary eyes brightened a fraction as she looked down at the half-colored picture. “It’s a butterfly. Sienna’s dad just brought her a coloring book, and she gave me this page.”

A knock came at the door before I could respond, and my mom and I turned to find a smiling Noya standing there. She wore black scrubs with smiling moons on them, and her black hijab wrapped around her head.

Her warm brown eyes passed between us. “Sorry to interrupt,” Noya apologized. “I’m here to give little Gemma her medication.”

“Just who I wanted to see,” Mom hissed, narrowing her eyes on Noya. “Give Gemma what she needs. Then I need to speak to you and the nursing supervisor.”

My mother didn’t wait to hear Noya’s reply. She turned to place a kiss on Gemma’s head and said, “I’ll visit soon. Keep doing what the doctors tell you, and don’t worry about anything .” Her eyes met mine and immediately lost the softness that had just been there. “Say goodbye so we can get out of Noya’s way.”

My chest constricted. This was never easy, and I hated that I’d just gotten here, just gotten to see and talk to Gemma. Saying bye was always difficult, especially since the scared little voice in the back of my head always wondered, will this be the last time I see her?

I leaned down to wrap her in my arms, forcing myself to hold back. I wanted to squeeze her tightly to me, hugging her with all I had in me, but I knew her fragile body couldn’t take that. So I held her with the barest of touches and pulled back to grin at her. “I love you, Gem.”

Her chapped lips widened into a smile. “I love you, too.”

Mom and I left the room, and I flashed Noya an apologetic look as I passed her. My mom was about to unleash her terror on the nurses and team taking care of Gemma, and Noya knew that. They all knew what to expect by now.

That Mrs. Winters. She’s a real bitch.

God, Mrs. Winters is the worst. She acts like we sit back and do nothing. Can’t she see we’re doing everything we can for her daughter?

Watch out for Mrs. Winters. She has a fiery temper and all the money to back her nasty attitude.

I’d heard all the whisperings about my mom over the eight months since she’d brought Gemma to this residential treatment facility. It was great, because it gave Gemma the twenty-four-seven surveillance and care she needed with doctors and nurses really focused on her and the other patients staying here, but despite the tremendous care they gave her, it was never good enough for my mom.

Things rarely were.

“I’m gonna go wait in the car,” I said to my mom, who hovered by the nurses station to wait on Noya. I never liked being around when she threw one of her fits.

She waved her hand, effectively dismissing me, so I spun on my heel and retreated. I waited in the silent car for nearly fifteen minutes before my mom finally came out. I winced at the lengthy reprimand, knowing that today’s outburst must’ve been a bad one. But my mom had gotten what she wanted—as she always did. That much was clear from the calm poise of her eyebrows and mouth.

Silence filled the car as she drove me back to my apartment near campus. No music. No chit-chat. Nothing. But that wasn’t anything unusual. We’d always been that way.

When we made it to my apartment, she followed me up. As soon as we crossed the threshold, she rummaged in her purse then produced a small box. “Here. Go take this while I do my sweep.”

Heat flooded my cheeks while bitter annoyance filled my gut like a swarm of bees. I took the box and stiffly walked into my bathroom to take the pregnancy test. It seemed like she was making me do this more and more frequently, and it pissed me off for a handful of reasons, the biggest one being that I wasn’t even sexually active. But, of course, she’d never believe that.

No. Her word was law, and she was always right, even when she wasn’t.

So if she thought I was having sex, then I was having sex. If she thought I was neglecting my studies to party, I was neglecting my studies to party. If she thought I was being a bad daughter, I was a bad daughter.

I didn’t even bother looking at the result of the test as I left the bathroom to wait in my kitchen. She was still in the middle of her routine walk-through, snooping to make sure I wasn’t hiding anything like music or erotic books.

Fresh pain lanced my heart.

Music.

I shook the thought away and dug out a bottled water from my fridge in an effort to keep myself from even thinking about my dead dream.

“Where did you get these pants from?” Mom demanded when she returned to the living room. She held up a pair of jeans that Nahla had forced me to buy, and despite my many layers of built-up armor, dread filled my body like cement.

“I got them at the mall,” I answered calmly.

She held them up to show me the rip right above the right knee and snapped, “I don’t give you money so you can spend it on tattered clothing. You aren’t homeless. You aren’t a slob. You are a Winters , and you will not walk around, giving people this impression. Showing skin. Looking like some cheap hooker.” She stormed over to where I stood and threw the pants into the trash.

I stared at the discarded clothes, letting the numbness take hold and allowing it to dull the ache trying to form. I’d told Nahla that my mother would never let me have something like that, but Nahla, being the daring and encouraging soul she was, convinced me to get the pants. After all, everyone wore jeans like this these days. Hell, people showed far more than just a bit of skin where some strategic holes and frays were in the pants. So in the heat of Nahla’s reassurances and high energy, I said to hell with Mom’s silly rules. I’d get myself a little something crazy and bold, just this once.

But of course, I had been right. My mother would never allow that kind of self-expression.

Control was her drug of choice. It always had been. This very apartment we were in wasn’t truly mine. It was purchased, furnished, and managed by her, despite me being the only one here. I didn’t get to choose what food came in and out of the house, nor did I get a say in how my life ran.

I glanced nervously at her while I fiddled with the test she’d given me, and I decided to breach the topic that I’d been weighing for awhile. “Mom. Um … I was thinking. There’s this café down the street that’s hiring. I thought I might apply there.”

She stopped her look-through of my pantry and turned to lock her sharp eyes on mine. “Why on earth would you do that?”

The ice I stood on was starting to melt and crack under her hot annoyance. I knew I had to tread carefully if I wanted to see this conversation play out the way I wanted—with me gaining even a sliver of freedom.

“Well, you just always have to give me money for everything,” I hurried to explain. “I thought I should contribute and start—”

“Iyla,” Mom snapped. She let the silence hang between us for a moment before she continued, “Do you not appreciate all I’ve done for you? I’ve given you everything, haven’t I?”

I’d definitely touched a nerve, and I was about to unleash a monster best kept hidden. Quickly trying to calm her down, I held a hand up. “Yes, of course. I was just—”

“I work very hard to take care of you. This apartment. Your phone. Your groceries. Utilities. Anything you could possibly want, I’ve worked tirelessly to get you. And now you want to wash your hands of my generosity? Are you really that ungrateful for all you’ve been given? Most girls your age would kill to have their parents give them all I’ve given you.”

My stomach soured, and my head sank in shame. All thoughts of my own washed away like sand on the tide, because she was right. My life had mostly been worry-free, and I definitely hadn’t struggled financially, all thanks to her. Grateful didn’t even come close to how I felt toward her generosity. I was being egotistical in trying to throw that kindness away, all so I could have a life of my own.

With a deep sigh, she pulled the negative pregnancy test over to her, briefly looked at it to confirm the results, dropped it in the trash can, then dug her black planner out of her bag and flipped through it. “Glad to see you aren’t pregnant. Have you been interacting with boys?”

I shook my head. “No, ma’am.”

She rolled her eyes. “A lie if I’ve ever heard one, but since your test is negative, I’ll let it slide. Keep it that way, and you won’t have anything to worry about. Now, according to my notes, you have an exam in Political Theory on Monday, correct?”

I nodded robotically. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you ready?”

Another bob of my head. “Yes, ma’am.”

She narrowed her eyes and stared at me like she was trying to see inside my head. I didn’t know what she was looking for, but finally, she said, “Even if you think you’re ready, you can’t be stagnant. You need to spend this weekend really studying. I won’t tolerate another B minus on an exam, Iyla.”

My eye twitched in an effort not to roll. That B minus was from middle school . She never forgot mistakes, though.

“This apartment, your phone, your bills, all the things I’ve provided for you can be taken away,” she continued, a clear warning laced in her tone. “Do you understand me?”

How could I forget? You certainly never let me.

I swallowed the grit filling my mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

She accepted my answer with a firm nod and stuffed her planner back into her bag. She took a deep breath and ran a hand over her perfectly pinned auburn hair. “There’s a reason you were born, Iyla. You don’t have that brain for nothing. It’s your job to take over my firm one day, especially with Gemma as sick as she is. You need to be able to afford her care. You need to be able to fight for her since only you and I care about her. Prove your worth, yes?”

I twirled my water bottle in my hands and focused on the liquid sloshing around inside. “I know, Mom. I’ll do my best.”

The pressure always swirling around my gut tightened with the reminder of what was expected of me. My sole purpose, the reason I worked so hard in school, was all for the sake of becoming a lead prosecutor and taking over my mom’s firm one day. I had a name to carry on, a duty to uphold, and a sick sister to care for. Nothing else mattered.

I listened to my mom walk back to the door, never looking away from the chaotic churning of the water in the plastic bottle. She made her exit without another word. I let out the breath I always seemed to hold when she was around and slumped forward to rest my head on the island. The tension in my shoulders didn’t leave, nor did the tightness in my throat.

No matter how used to Valerie Winters I was, it was still so exhausting to deal with her.

I moved away from the counter and pulled out my phone to dial my one reprieve from the stress.

“What’s up, sexy bitch?”

I immediately snickered. “My mom just left. We went and saw Gemma.”

“Shit.” Nahla’s tone immediately softened as she asked, “How was she today?”

“I didn’t get to see her long. It wasn’t one of those kinds of visits. The doctor said she had some good days this week, but he still doesn’t know exactly what’s wrong with her. Just that her own body is trying to kill itself from the inside.”

“Iyla, I’m so sorry. I know you must be ready to fall apart. Why don’t you hang with me tonight? You could really use a night out.”

I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. “Can’t. I have homework.”

“Homework?” Nahla asked with a disbelieving laugh. “You don’t have homework. You already did it.”

I weaved around the end table in the living room to sit on the black suede couch. My backpack was still at the foot of it with my textbooks and notes spread out on the coffee table. “I have that exam on Monday, remember?”

She sighed deeply from the other end of the phone. “And I bet you’ve already studied for it. To the point where you know the material better than the Professor.”

I absently flipped through my notes but stayed quiet, because … I couldn’t argue with that.

“There is such a thing as too much studying,” Nahla continued. “And you’re basically there. Your brain is literally going to fall out if you try to force anymore info into it without taking a break. Especially with everything else you have going on with Gemma and your mom.”

“I took a break,” I argued, raking a hand through my long, brown hair. “I visited Gemma.”

She scoffed. “That’s not the kind of break I’m talking about.” She paused then declared, “You know what, you don’t get a choice. I’ve decided. You’re going out with me tonight.”

Nahla always had something cooked up for Friday nights. Parties. A hot date. Mini vacation to some resort or casino. There was absolutely no telling what she had planned for tonight, but whatever it was, I knew I couldn’t get involved. Not only would it probably be completely outside of my comfort zone, but my mom would kill me if she found out I’d done whatever Nahla had planned, no matter how innocent it was.

“You know I can’t go out,” I said. “My—”

“Your mom isn’t there. What she won’t know won’t hurt her. Plus, you’re twenty, babe. You can do whatever the hell you want.”

Not when Valerie Winters is your mom. Not when your life doesn’t belong to you.

I didn’t bother saying that to Nahla. It never did any good, but what did I expect? Trying to explain why I followed Mom’s demands so faithfully to someone whose parents encouraged her to live her life to the fullest was like talking to a brick wall. I couldn’t explain my mom’s ability to control so easily or my swift compliance, not when that reality was as normal as breathing for me.

It wasn’t until I saw Nahla with her family that I realized how different other people’s relationships were with their parents. Where my mother demanded obedience and perfection, Nahla’s mom and dad smiled at her differences and embraced both of their daughters—Nahla, who was spunky and determined to carve her own path in the world, and Noya, who was reserved and chose to embrace her family’s traditions. The Turkish sisters couldn’t have been more different in attitude and goals, yet the Bayrak’s loved them fiercely and equally.

Could I say the same of my own mom? Maybe. Maybe she loved me in her own way. It wasn’t something I had truly questioned until Nahla.

“I’m going to be there in forty-five minutes,” Nahla barreled on, stopping my wandering thoughts in their tracks. “I’m taking you with me, forcibly or not. Either way, you are coming with me tonight.”

Knowing Nahla meant every word—she would absolutely kidnap me, if necessary—I rubbed a hand over my forehead. “No need to resort to violence. I might come willingly. Just depends. What exactly would we be doing, may I ask?”

I could hear the smile in her voice as she answered, “We’re going to a concert.”

I raised my eyebrows, because that wasn’t what I’d expected. That sounded too contained for the boisterous Nahla, and I actually found myself considering letting her whisk me away. A concert? It didn’t sound too crazy, dangerous, or like something my mother would disembowel me for joining in on.

But then I remembered that this was Nahla.

“And …” I drew the word out, already dreading whatever answer I was about to get. “Who would we be seeing?”

“The best, obviously,” she answered excitedly. “Sinners Do It Better.”