Chapter Eight

The sound of plates rubbing against each other echoed through the kitchen, blending with the rhythmic chopping of vegetables and the sizzling of oil in a pan. The Shawn family's kitchen, usually occupied by just one or two people at a time, was packed to the brim this morning. A rare sight. A rare day.

Unlike other mornings, when only a few would be in and out, going about their business, this Saturday was different. Everyone was home. The entire family... seven in total... had gathered under one roof for the first time in a long while. Their mother had demanded it, and when Lovett Shawn made a decision, it was law. Not even their father, George, dared to object when she set her mind on something.

But none of them were foolish enough to believe that this was just about "family bonding." They all knew the real reason.

Jade sat stiffly on the living room sofa, watching the women of the family move seamlessly around the kitchen. She tried to keep her hands busy, clutching the hem of her skirt, her fingers rubbing against the fabric in a nervous rhythm. The scene before her was unfamiliar. The laughter, the shouting, the small but meaningful touches exchanged between sisters, the way they worked around each other in sync without stepping on toes... it was like watching a well-rehearsed play where she didn't know the script.

And every time she attempted to step onto the stage, she ruined the scene.

Jade had tried— really tried— to help. She had offered to chop onions but ended up slicing them unevenly. She had reached for a bowl but almost knocked a stack of plates over. The chaos seemed to follow her like a shadow, and soon enough, her sisters had started gently pushing her out of the way. It hadn't been direct. No one had told her outright that she was a burden. But the way hands guided her aside, the way her attempts to contribute were swiftly corrected or redone, the way their conversations carried on without acknowledging her... it all spoke louder than words.

"Jade, don't just sit there, find yourself something to do!" Charlotte's sharp voice rang through the room.

Jade startled. That was the fourth time her eldest sister had snapped at her.

"Come on, Charlotte, how many times are you going to keep repeating the same thing?" Bertha called from the kitchen, exasperated. "She tried helping. Every single time she did, we ended up sending her away. You can't possibly want her to go outside and help the guys with their 'boy stuff,' right?"

Bertha's words weren't exactly comforting, but at least she acknowledged the obvious: Jade was in the way.

In the Shawn household, there was a clear division of labor. The women handled the cooking and the cleaning, while the men— George and the two brothers— were outside clearing the nearby bushes, taking care of yard work. It was a system, one that worked for them, one they had been following for years.

Jade wasn't a part of that system.

The lively chatter and occasional bursts of laughter coming from the kitchen only deepened the hollow feeling in her chest. She wanted to belong. She wanted to laugh with them, to move with the same ease, to feel like a part of the whole instead of a stray puzzle piece that didn't fit anywhere.

Her heart pounded as her hands clenched tighter around the fabric of her skirt. Maybe if she tried again. Maybe if she just forced herself into the rhythm of things—

A hand landed on her shoulder, rough and warm.

"If you want to join them, you can go ahead and do so," a familiar voice spoke beside her. "If you don't feel welcome in the kitchen, you can always join us boys outside. Be our mascot for the day. I'm sure your presence will brighten our morning further."

Jade turned her head slightly, already rolling her eyes. "Old man, mom should really stop you from watching Chinese movies. You sound so cringe this early in the morning."

George chuckled. He was the only one she actually got along with in the house, the only one who spoke to her without subtle resentment lurking behind his words. Maybe it was because he had no expectations of her. Maybe it was because he saw her for what she was— an outsider in his family.

"George! What nonsense are you telling my daughter?" Lovett's voice cut through the house, sharp and immediate.

Jade stiffened.

It wasn't like Lovett didn't know that everyone was avoiding Jade. They all did. But acknowledging it would mean confronting something uncomfortable, something no one wanted to face. So instead, they all played along in their pretentious calm, pretending everything was fine.

"I'm just stating facts," George replied, crossing his arms. "You call this a family gathering, yet you've all abandoned the poor girl here. Meanwhile, I can hear you laughing all the way from the backyard. Can you imagine how she feels sitting here alone?"

The kitchen went silent.

The backyard went silent.

Jade wished she could disappear.

Then, suddenly, a shuffle of footsteps. First from the kitchen, then from the backyard, and before she knew it, they were all in the living room, standing before her, their gazes unreadable.

She swallowed hard.

"It's not like staying with you guys will make the situation any lighter," Charlotte finally said, her tone clipped. "Don't talk as if we're the only ones in the wrong."

Jade looked around at the faces watching her. Some were tense. Some were indifferent. Some were unreadable.

She could feel the weight of their gazes pressing down on her, waiting, expecting.

"Dad, you shouldn't say that," Jade finally spoke, her voice softer than she intended. "They actually tried to include me in the kitchen. I was just… useless there, so I thought I shouldn't disturb them further. Moreover, there's not much I could help with anywhere, so I'm actually helping by not helping."

She attempted a small laugh, but it died in her throat when she saw her mother's expression.

Lovett was already looking at her. Not in anger, not in frustration, but with something far worse—calculated observation.

"Do you feel left out?" Lovett asked.

Jade shook her head. She didn't trust herself to speak.

She did feel left out. She felt like she didn't belong. Like she was trying to squeeze herself into a space that wasn't meant for her. But saying it out loud? No. That would only make things worse.

Unfortunately, her silence only made things more complicated.

The rest of the family, watching the exchange, took her quiet response as an unspoken "yes."

"Awwn! She's so cute," a sarcastic voice drawled. "Look at her eyes, all round and beautiful."

Jade clenched her jaw. She didn't need to look to know who it was.

Bertha.

Unlike the others, Bertha didn't bother with subtlety. She didn't try to act like she liked Jade. She didn't pretend. While the others danced around their discomfort, Bertha made her disdain plain.

"Bertha, don't talk about your younger sister like that," Lovett reprimanded, though there was little weight to her words.

And that— that— was the worst part.

Even Lovett, even their mother, found Jade's incompetence exasperating. She tried to hide it, but Jade could see the irritation just beneath the surface, and could hear it in the way she hesitated before calling her 'daughter.'

"What! I was only trying to lighten the mood," Bertha huffed, rolling her eyes as she turned back toward the kitchen, spatula in one hand, sponge in the other.

She didn't understand why their mother had dragged her out of bed this early on a Saturday morning to cater to some rich brat who couldn't even hold a knife properly.

And it wasn't just Bertha. The entire family knew the truth but refused to say it aloud.

It was obvious even to the blind that Jade knew nothing about house chores. From what she gathered from their last born all the girl did since she moved to the house was sleep and eat nothing else.