Settling in

VIOLET

“What happened to your hair? It's so short now!”
“You look so pretty!”
“Come play games with me, please!”
“Do you like lasagna? Mom makes the best!”
“Can you teach me how to do makeup?”

These are the kinds of things I’ve been hearing ever since I got here. My Aunt Rosa and her two daughters, Claire and Mia, have been relentless in their attempts to make me feel at home. It’s sweet, really but also utterly exhausting.

Aunt Rosa is my mom’s younger sister and her complete opposite in every conceivable way. While my mom is strict, polished, and thrives on structure, Rosa is vibrant, carefree, and brimming with energy. She’s the kind of person who can light up a room just by walking into it, her laughter infectious and her personality larger than life.

I’ve known her since I was a child, but even now, years later, she hasn’t changed much—except for her hair. Her usual jet-black hair is now dyed a warm chestnut brown, streaked with hints of caramel, likely inspired by her daughters' insistence on keeping up with trends. Yet, Rosa’s essence remains the same—overflowing with a warmth that makes people want to stay.

Claire, the older of her daughters, is thirteen, with boundless energy and a sharp tongue. From the moment I stepped into the house, she’s been glued to my side, bombarding me with questions about New York and what it’s like to live in such a big city.

“What’s the coolest thing you’ve seen there?” Claire asks now, sitting cross-legged on my bed as I brush my hair in front of the mirror.

“I don’t know,” I say softly. “The skyline at night is pretty amazing.”

She tilts her head, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Did you ever see any celebrities? Like, up close?”

I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Not really. It’s not like the movies where they just walk around everywhere.”

Claire seems disappointed but quickly recovers, scooting closer. “Your hair’s so shiny. Do you use special products or something? You can borrow my hair ties if you want. Mom always says she wishes she had hair like yours.”

That explains why Aunt Rosa’s dark hair is now brown. I glance at Claire in the mirror, touched by her admiration. “Thanks, Claire. Maybe later.”

She grins, satisfied, and starts rattling off ideas for a makeover she insists I’ll love. I nod along, though my mind is elsewhere—caught between the cheerful chatter of the present and the aching void of everything I left behind.

Mia, the youngest at nine, is the polar opposite of her sister. She doesn’t ask questions about my past or where I come from. She just wants to play, dragging me into board games, video games, or whatever she can find to keep me engaged. Her bright smile and relentless enthusiasm make it impossible to say no, even when all I want to do is curl up in bed and pretend none of this is real.

Aunt Rosa’s voice rings out from the kitchen, breaking through my thoughts. “Violet, dinner’s almost ready! I hope you like lasagna—I made it special for your first night here!”

I glance at Claire, who gives me an encouraging nod.

“Sounds great!” I call back, forcing more cheer into my voice than I feel.

The truth is, nothing feels great. Not the warm welcome, not the cozy house, not even the lasagna smell wafting through the air. Everything feels foreign. Like I’m a guest in someone else’s life, trying desperately to find my place in a puzzle where I don’t fit.

My stomach tightens as I think about my mom. She hadn’t stayed long after dropping me off. A quick exchange of pleasantries with Aunt Rosa, a brief glance in my direction, and a curt “Be a good girl” were all I got before she left. It was cold.

Detached. Like I was an inconvenience she was finally rid of. But it doesn't matter anyway,she has always been like that to me–distant. It just hurts more because I thought we were making progress,hell we were before the Ryan's thing blew out.

The thought stings, but not as much as the pang that follows. Ryan.

The thought of him sends a pang through my chest. I can’t stop wondering what he’s doing right now. Is he as miserable as I am? Or is he throwing himself into some reckless plan to “fix this” like he promised?

I pick up my phone, staring at the blank screen. No messages. No missed calls. Just silence.

I haven’t heard from him since my last text, and it’s killing me. Was he mad? Disappointed? That I didn't reciprocate his “I love you?”. Either way, I'd check on him before going to bed.

I sigh, standing from the chair.

“Let’s go,” I say to Claire, forcing a smile as I head toward the dining room.

As we step into the dining room, the comforting aroma of freshly baked lasagna fills the air. Aunt Rosa has set the table meticulously, complete with folded napkins and a small vase of wildflowers in the center.

“Here we go!” Aunt Rosa says brightly as she places the lasagna on the table. “It’s my special recipe. I’ve been perfecting it for years.”

“Mom’s lasagna is the best,” Claire chimes in, sliding into her seat across from me. “You’re going to love it, Violet!”

I force a smile as I take my place at the table. “It smells amazing.”

Aunt Rosa beams, clearly pleased, and sits down beside Claire. “I hope you’re hungry. I made plenty.”

I nod, though the truth is, my stomach is in knots. The thought of eating feels almost impossible, but presenting myself as rude and ungrateful isn’t part of the plan. So, I pick up my fork and force myself to take a bite.

The lasagna is delicious—layers of gooey cheese, rich tomato sauce, and perfectly seasoned meat. But it feels like sawdust in my mouth. I chew slowly, swallowing each bite with effort, hoping no one notices.

“So, Violet,” Claire starts. “What’s your favorite thing to do in New York? Do you go to Broadway shows? Or, oh! Do you go shopping at those giant stores like in the movies?”

I blink, caught off guard by the rapid-fire questions. “Um… I guess I like walking around the city? There’s always something to see.”

Claire leans forward, her eyes wide with fascination. “Like what? Cool street performances? Fancy restaurants? Celebrities?”

“Claire,” Aunt Rosa interjects, giving her daughter a pointed look. “Courtesy.”

Claire pouts, sinking back into her chair. “I’m just curious.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Aunt Rosa says, softening her tone. “But let’s give Violet some space. She’s had a long day.”

“It’s okay,” I say quickly, not wanting to cause any tension. “I don’t mind.”

Aunt Rosa gives me a warm smile. “You’re sweet, Violet. But Claire needs to learn when to slow down.”

“It’s fine, really,” I insist, taking another bite of lasagna.

The conversation shifts to lighter topics—Claire’s school projects, Mia’s love for art, and Aunt Rosa’s work as a freelance graphic designer. I nod and smile at all the right moments, but my mind keeps slipping back to Ryan

Rosa, as I’ve learned, has been raising her daughters on her own since her divorce six years ago. Something about her ex husband being irresponsible and all,but I was proud of how well she's raised her kids alone.

After dinner, Rosa places the last of the dishes into the sink and claps her hands lightly. “Okay, girls. Time to head to your rooms.”

Claire looks like she’s about to protest, but one look from her mom has her shrugging and standing. “Fine. Night, Violet!” she says with a bright smile before heading upstairs.

“Goodnight, Violet,” Mia chimes in, flashing me a gap-toothed grin before following her sister.

“Goodnight,” I reply softly, watching them disappear around the corner.

And then it’s just me and Rosa.

I should have braced myself. There was no way we’d get through the night without a conversation, and I knew exactly what it would be about. She’d scold me for loving someone I shouldn’t—my stepbrother of all people. She’d tell me how I was throwing my life away, ignoring my mother’s warnings, doing what she opposes. The idea of it alone made my stomach churn. There was no escaping it.

“Violet,” Rosa begins gently, pulling my thoughts back to the present. “So…”

Well, here we go.

She doesn’t launch into an immediate lecture, though. Instead, she pauses, looking at me with a softness that catches me off guard.

“I just want you to know you’re welcome here,” she says finally. “This is your home too. You’re free to be yourself here, Violet. If there’s ever a problem or something bothering you, please come to me. I’ll do my best to make your time here as comfortable as possible.”

I blinked, her words sinking in slowly. Whether she doesn’t know the real reason I’m here or is simply choosing not to address it, I can’t tell. Wouldn’t be surprising if my mom told her I was here on vacation to avoid the embarrassment of the truth or Rosa just choose to not talk about it. Either way, I’m grateful.

“Thank you,” I managed, offering a small smile.

Rosa studied me for a moment, her eyes dimmed as if trying to read between the lines of my expression. “You don’t have to thank me. Family looks out for each other. That’s what we do.”

I nod, though the word "family" feels foreign to me right now. If only she knew how fractured my world had become, how lost I felt.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said quietly.

Rosa smiled , patting my hand lightly before standing. “Get some rest, Violet. It’s been a long day.”

I nodded as I made my way back to my room. It's going to be a long two weeks