Traded for Gratitude, I Chose Exile

My fingers were still trembling as I signed the agreement, but no one in the living room noticed.

Wyatt Whitfield, my boyfriend, emerged from Savannah Keller's room, a faint sweat glistening on his brow. He grabbed the water bottle from the coffee table and took a few quick gulps.

"Wyatt," I called after him. "You've been at it all afternoon. Why don't you take a break?"

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze already drifting back toward Savannah's room.

"In a bit," he said. "The curtain rod in Savannah's room is a little crooked. I want to fix it."

He set the bottle down absentmindedly and disappeared back inside. He didn't even glance my way as he passed.

In three whole years, Wyatt had never gone out of his way like that for me. The day I moved into my college dorm, I hauled five cardboard boxes up six flights of stairs all by myself.

He said something came up at the last minute. But later, I saw on Savannah's Instagram that he'd taken her to an amusement park that day.

My mother, Elizabeth Carter, poked her head out of the kitchen, her apron still untied.

"Riley Sullivan, are you just going to sit there? Go help Savannah change her sheets. The new bedding set is in the bag by the door."

I glanced at the corner of the hallway, where a few boxes of my things were stacked crookedly, blocking half the passage. No one had offered to help me move them or even asked where they were supposed to go.

"Mom, which room should I put my things in?" I asked.

Mom jerked her chin toward a narrow little door next to the balcony.

"Clear out the storage room and make do for now. It's not like you haven't stayed there before. You slept there for a while when you were little, remember?"

She was referring to the time when Savannah first came to live with us.

That year, my brother, Benjamin Sullivan, had been playing by the river when he slipped and fell in. Mr. Liam Keller, Savannah's father, happened to be passing by. He immediately jumped in and lifted Benjamin onto the bank, but he himself was soon swept away by the undercurrent.

It was Mom who had called Mr. Keller to come to the river to help keep an eye on us. She'd never been able to get past it.

Thus, the day Savannah was brought back to our house, Mom held her and cried all afternoon, saying, "From now on, this is your home. No one will ever hurt you here."

Then, she turned to me and said, "Savannah just lost her dad. Just let her have your room and squeeze in somewhere else for a few days."

Those "few days" turned into an entire year.

And now, the same thing was happening again.

I carried my pillow and flimsy blanket into the storage room.

It was under 40 square feet. Not only was it crammed with mops, buckets, and clutter, but a damp, musty smell hit me the moment I stepped in.

There were no windows. Instead, there was just a bare lightbulb with an exposed filament buzzing overhead. A yoga mat spread across the concrete floor was supposed to be my bed.

That evening, Mom ordered in a whole spread to celebrate the move.

The coffee table was loaded with seafood boil, fried chicken, and mango cheesecake. Every single dish was Savannah's favorite.

Benjamin piled chicken wings into Savannah's bowl, and Wyatt peeled shrimp for her.

I quietly finished the potato salad on my own plate. No one noticed I hadn't touched any other food.

After dinner, I got up and went into the kitchen. There, I took a pack of instant noodles from the cupboard and set a small pot of water to boil.

Mom's voice followed me in. "What are you doing? Everyone's eating, and you're hiding in the kitchen?"

"I'm just making some noodles."

"There's a whole table of food, yet you'd rather cook for yourself? What's Savannah supposed to think? She'll blame herself!"

I turned off the stove and dumped the noodles into the trash.

In the living room, Savannah peered over with an uneasy look.

"Riley, do you not like any of this? Next time, I'll ask Mrs. Sullivan to order the food you like."

Benjamin waved a hand impatiently. "She can make a fuss out of anything. Just ignore her."

Wyatt simply smiled and went back to peeling shrimp for Savannah.

There was no malice in that smile, yet it stung more than any accusation could have. That was because he wasn't deliberately ignoring me. Rather, he genuinely felt like this had nothing to do with him.

I went back to the storage room and closed the door.

I was hungry, but there was nothing left to eat.

I lay down on the yoga mat. My phone screen still showed the signed confidentiality agreement.

It was all there in black and white—a five-year service term and no leaving the post without authorization.

My mentor, Gideon Atwood, personally recommended this post to me. He said that given my thesis and data analysis skills, I was the only one in the entire research group suited for the position.

However, I never mentioned it to anyone. After all, what would be the point?

In this house, my major, my grades, and all the effort I'd ever put in—none of it was ever worth mentioning.

The report date was August 15th. That was 23 days away.

In 23 days, I would completely vanish from this house.

It would probably be a long time before any of them noticed I was gone.