I heave a heavy sigh as my mother and sister mutter to one another. "I thought you said you had a plan," I say. Isabelle smiles crookedly at me, smoothing out her cream colored skirt.

"Not exactly," Isa says slowly. "But we can figure something out. You've worked so hard—and to do what? Throw everything away because of a minor inconvenience?"

I shake my head. "It's over, Isa. I'm going to drop out of the race."

"No," Mom says quickly. The first time she's spoken since we've sat down. "Don't be so hasty, Scarlett. Since when do you so easily give up?"

"The public hates me, Mom," I say softly. "I lied to them. Nobody trusts me anymore." Tears prick my eyes and I quickly blink them away.

"Give us one day," Isabelle says quickly. She looks at Mom briefly, searching for approval. "Give us one day to find a solution."

I shouldn't—I know that. I should just disappear like everyone wants me to. But a flicker of hope sparks in my chest. Isa and Mom are determined, that's for sure. Who knows? Maybe this whole situation will just fizzle out. Reluctantly, I nod. "One day," I say weakly.

Isa nods crisply, leaning across the couch and grabbing her computer bag. She unzips it and pulls out her Macbook. My eyebrows shoot up at the urgency of the action.

They are very determined.

. . .

I take a long shower, washing my skin until it's raw and red. As if I could wash off yesterday's shame and embarrassment. I put on my usual blouse, skirt and blazer. As I step out of the bathroom, I almost feel normal.

I stroll through the halls, my heels echoing through the house. To be completely honest, I have no objective. My body just needs to move. To create the illusion of normality.

I stop in front of one of my guest bedrooms. The door opens a crack. I peer through it, noticing the half-opened duffle bag in the middle of the bed. Adjusting my blazer, I knock sharply on the door. There's no answer. I knock once more.

Again, no answer.

I push the door open and peer my head in. The room is empty, it seems. I almost call for Ezra, but before I can, I hear a voice from behind me.

My eyes float to the nearby bathroom. I approach the door, straining for signs of life. A few seconds pass when I hear, "No. It's okay, really. It's a nice place." My lips curl into a frown. I know it's wrong to eavesdrop, but him being here seems like a fever dream. The last time I ever saw him was when he was two weeks old, his face red and his head barely full of hair. Now he's an adult, with a sprinkling of freckles replacing the red and a head full of thick, curly hair.

Yes, he might've ruined my entire political career, but the fact is still there that he's my son. He's my own flesh and blood. Who knows, anyway? Maybe this will help me sleep easier, knowing that my only child got a good family who raised him right. Knowing that I made the right decision, no matter how much I regretted it.

I swallow.

"She's... strange. I get the sense that she's a lonely workaholic," Ezra says, pulling me back to the present. That one stings a little. Ezra pauses and laughs softly a moment later. "I'll bring it up as soon as possible. Look, I have to go. She'll probably want quality time or some shit." My eyebrows shoot up and I take a hesitant step away from the door. "Yeah, yeah. Love you too. Bye."

Ezra goes quiet. Water starts running and I hurry down the hall, trying not to look guilty. Ezra exits the bathroom a minute later. Our eyes meet and he smiles thinly. "Hi," he says, traveling towards me.

"Hello," I say slowly. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine," he says with a little shrug. I nod in response. We stand in an awkward silence for a good thirty seconds until Ezra speaks again, "Is it cool if I stay here a while?"

"Of course," I say quickly, trying my best to sound welcoming.

"Thanks," Ezra says. Again, we fall silent.

It's awkward. I mean, of course it is. It's not everyday your kid you put up for adoption seventeen years ago shows up on your doorstep.

"Ezra..." I say slowly, taking a deep breath. "I need to know why you are here." Ezra looks startled for a moment, but he seems to get over it pretty quickly.

"I want to know my real family," he says simply, shrugging. I sigh.

"Do you have an adopted family?" I ask.

Ezra pauses and squints at some distant point. "Yes. I do," he says slowly. I wait for him to say more, but he doesn't elaborate.

"Are you close with them?" I ask him, silently holding my breath.

"I am," he says with a nod. I raise my eyebrows, making a motion with my hand so he'll say more. He sighs, almost annoyed. "I have three sisters," he says, his voice oddly tight. "I'm the youngest in the family."

"How old are your sisters?" I ask. Again, Ezra looks annoyed with my attempts at small talk. But he keeps talking.

"The oldest are twins: Eliza and Emma. They're twenty. The middle, Ella, is eighteen," Ezra tells me. I nod, barely able to suppress a chuckle. All E names. That's sweet.

"What about your parents?"

"Happily married. My mom is a doctor and my dad owns a bakery."

"That's sweet," I say, smiling politely. "Your family sounds nice."

"They are," Ezra nods. We lapse back into silence. It's still awkward, but a little less so. I check the clock. It's one o'clock. I'll give Mom and Isa a few more hours, then I'm going to tweet my defeat and hide under my comforter.

And who knows? Maybe Ezra showing up on my doorstep was a blessing. It's not like I have people I'm really close with. Maybe Ezra will become my family and work won't matter to me. The thought makes me feel warm inside.

I'm about to suggest that he and I grab some lunch, but he speaks before I can.

"How old were you when you had me?" Ezra asks, scuffing his shoe against the floor. For once, he looks genuinely curious.

I pause, swallowing. I have to face it: my past isn't going to stay buried much longer. I might as well get ahead of it. "Sixteen," I tell him. His eyes widen.

"That's young," he says, "like, really young."

I laugh a little, though it pains me. "Yes. I know."

"So you're thirty-three?" He asks, shoving his hands into his pockets. I nod. "Wow." His lips turn upward in a half smile. Oh God. He looks so similar to his father. My eyes flutter closed and it takes a few seconds for me to steady myself. "So you're a big deal in this town?" Ezra asks, snapping me back to reality.

"Kind of," I say slowly, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "I've helped this community a lot. They were going bankrupt when I arrived." Ezra nods, briefly running his fingers through his thick curls. "I did some fundraising and within a few years, the town paid off their debts. The rest of the money went to improving the town."

"Impressive," Ezra says. There's a humorous edge to his voice, which strikes me as odd. I'm about to ask him when the sound of thunder booms through the hallway. I jump, my eyes flying to a nearby window. Rain is pouring down and lighting occasionally lights up the sky. But, my eyes fly to a car that pulls into the driveway of the house. The black SUV jolts to a stop and the backseat door opens, revealing a guy in a suit. He doesn't seem to mind that he's getting soaked by the rain.

I squint, trying to identify him. He adjusts his tie and starts up the path to the front door. "Hang on," I tell Ezra, hurrying down the hall. I half-jog to the stairs, stepping down them quickly. I stop at the head of the stairs, my eyes widening at the man standing in my house. He's soaked head to toe, a puddle forming beneath his feet. Isa and Mom stand in front of the guy, smiling as they shake his hand.

Mom notices me and she smiles. "Scarlett, darling! Here is your new campaign manager," Mom says excitedly, motioning to the stranger. He looks up at me, a frown on his lips.

"Hello," he says slowly, running a hand through his dark, wet hair.

His voice echoes through the corridor and I freeze. I know that voice—I've heard it in many press conferences before. Mom motions for me to do something and I force a smile on my lips. "Hello. I'm Scarlett Revaz," I say, descending down the stairs. I approach him, extending my hand politely. He simply stares at my extended hand—like it's a foreign object.

"I know," he says, his eyes meeting mine again. "I have my work cut out for me, don't I?" He says, and a small smile finds his lips. "Best we get to work, yeah?"

***

Y'all ready to hate this new character? >:)

Make sure to comment and vote! I really appreciate all forms of support!