I stared at the greasy pan in my hands, scrubbing with enough force to strip the metal. The sound of laughter filtered in from the living room. My mother’s laugh. The one I hadn’t heard in months. The one Iris was currently falling for like it was some kind of magic spell.

"So there’s little Isaiah, maybe six years old," Mom was saying, her voice carrying over the running water, "standing in the middle of the playground with his pants completely soaked because he decided to jump into a puddle to impress this girl."

Iris cackled. "No way! Was he always this serious?"

"Oh god no. He used to smile. Used to laugh all the time. Before he decided he needed to be the man of the house."

I nearly snapped the sponge in half. Before I decided? Like I’d had a fucking choice?

The soapy water swirled down the drain, carrying away the remnants of the pasta dinner I’d made. The pasta I’d cooked. With ingredients I’d bought. In the apartment I paid for.

But here was Diana, sitting on our couch like she belonged there, telling stories about a childhood she’d mostly missed, laughing with Iris like she hadn’t abandoned us with nothing but a text message two months ago.

And Iris was eating it up.

I couldn’t blame her. She was fourteen. She wanted a mom. Needed one, maybe. There were things I couldn’t teach her, couldn’t help her with. Girl stuff. The conversations about periods and boys and whatever else teenage girls talked about. Things Diana should have been here for.

But Diana couldn’t be trusted. Not now. Not ever.

I’d seen this movie before. Diana would blow in, all sunshine and promises, stick around for a few weeks, maybe a month if we were lucky, then vanish again when the responsibility got too heavy or some new guy offered her an escape route.

And I’d be left picking up the pieces of Iris’s heart. Again.

"Isaiah was always so protective," Diana continued. "Even as a little boy. Always looking out for everyone else."

"He still is," Iris said, her voice softer now. "He takes care of everyone."

"But who takes care of him?" Diana asked.

I nearly hurled the frying pan across the room. What right did she have to ask that question? What fucking right?

Instead, I set it carefully in the drying rack and reached for another plate, channeling my anger into scrubbing away a stubborn bit of sauce.

"I try," Iris said. "But he doesn’t let people help him much."

"That’s my fault," Diana admitted. "I made him grow up too fast."

At least she got that part right.

A knock on the door cut through the momentary silence.

"I’ll get it!" Diana called out, already moving toward the door.

I tensed, my hands freezing in the sudsy water. We didn’t get visitors. Especially not at 8:30 on a Friday night. It was probably Mrs. Delgado from next door, forgetting her keys again or needing help with her groceries.

The door creaked open.

"Oh?" Diana’s voice lifted in surprise. "You’re looking for Isaiah?"

My stomach dropped.

"Yeah, is he here?" A familiar voice. Too familiar.

Cassidy Valentine.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The family dinner. The meeting at the mansion. The thing they’d been hinting at all week. It was tonight.

"Come in, come in," Diana was saying. "I’m Diana, Isaiah’s mom."

"His... mom?" Another voice. Harlow.

I turned slowly, water dripping from my hands onto the linoleum floor, to find myself face-to-face with all four Valentine sisters standing in my cramped apartment entryway.

Four identical faces. Four sets of purple eyes. Four expressions ranging from confusion to curiosity to outright hostility.

And me, standing there in a tank top and sweatpants, arms wet up to the elbows, looking like I’d completely forgotten about whatever important thing had brought them all the way from Long Island to my shitty Kensington apartment.

Which I had.

"You were supposed to be at the mansion two hours ago," Vivienne said, her voice flat.

"There was an emergency," I said, grabbing a dish towel and wiping my hands. "I’m sorry. I should have called."

"We were worried," Harlow added, her eyes tracking from my face down to my exposed arms and shoulders.

I suddenly became acutely aware that I was wearing nothing but a threadbare white tank that had seen better days. Four sets of eyes were taking in details of my body they’d never had access to before—the defined muscles of my shoulders, the cut of my abs visible through the thin fabric.

"I need to put on a shirt," I said, backing away. "Give me a minute and we can head out."

"No rush," Sabrina said, her gaze lingering a beat too long on my chest. "This is... informative."

Jesus Christ.

I retreated to my closet and yanked a t-shirt over my head. My hands were shaking. From anger? Embarrassment? The sheer fucking absurdity of having the Valentine quadruplets in my apartment while my long-lost mother played hostess?

All of the above.

I could hear them in the living room, the awkward small talk already underway.

"What a lovely apartment," Vivienne was saying, in the tone people use when they’re lying through their teeth.

"Thank you! We’ve made it work," Diana replied. "Isaiah does most of the decorating."

A blatant lie. Diana wouldn’t know who picked out our furniture if her life depended on it.

"You have a beautiful view," Harlow added politely.

Another lie. Our view was of the brick wall of the building next door and a fire escape that creaked ominously in strong winds.

"Isaiah never mentioned his mother was visiting," Cassidy said, her voice cutting through the pleasantries.

"It was a surprise," Diana answered. "I’ve been in California. Just got back today."

"California?" Sabrina asked. "That’s quite a distance."

"Work opportunity," Diana said vaguely. "But I’m back now."

"For how long?" Cassidy again, blunt as ever.

Silence.

I emerged from my room to find them arranged awkwardly in our small living space. Iris sat on the couch, eyes wide, looking between the sisters and Diana like she was watching a tennis match. Diana stood by the TV, arms crossed defensively. The sisters had positioned themselves in a perfect semicircle, like they were facing off against Diana in some kind of standoff.

The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on.

"I’m ready," I announced, grabbing my jacket from the hook by the door. "We can go."

"Don’t you want to introduce us properly, Isaiah?" Diana asked, a too-bright smile on her face.