There was nothing wrong with Sam.

At least, she didn't think so. She was just... forgettable.

The middle of three kids, Sam had never quite fit into the spaces carved out for her siblings. Chris, the eldest, was steady and sharp, born with a sense of responsibility that fit neatly into their father's small-town clinic like a puzzle piece falling into place. Maddie, the youngest, was everything their mother had ever wanted: pretty, popular, and ambitious, the kind of girl who smiled with straight white teeth in photographs and had a way of making rooms bend toward her brightness. She was on her way to law school, already the pride of the family.

And then there was Sam.

Sam with her ginger hair that frizzed when it rained, her round belly her mother pretended not to notice, and her sketchbooks filled with designs no one ever asked to see. She wasn't brilliant, wasn't driven the way Chris and Maddie were. Her grades had always been average, her voice too quiet, her body too much, her social life too little. Her father had frowned over her report cards; her mother had sighed at her silence during family dinners. They loved her in the way one loves furniture: something that filled a space, familiar and necessary, but easy to overlook.

So Sam had learned to make do. She worked as soon as she was old enough, scrimped together paychecks to buy her own art supplies, her own beat-up car, her own freedom. At eighteen, she packed what she could fit into the trunk and left, not in anger but in relief. Hers and theirs both.

Holidays came and went. Sometimes she got a last-minute text, an afterthought invite tacked onto messages meant for her siblings. Most years she worked through them anyway, filling the silence with the buzz of tattoo machines and the bright colors she etched into other people's skin. The loneliness was quieter when she was busy.

The apprenticeship years had been brutal: long hours, aching hands, and nights that smelled of rubbing alcohol and cheap ramen. But she made it through. And when she emerged on the other side, she was more than just a tattoo artist; she was someone sought after, her calendar booked out weeks in advance. Clients wanted her. Magazines printed her work. She even had a few awards tucked into a drawer she never opened.

For the first time in her life, she wasn't forgettable.

And then she met her girlfriend.

Her girlfriend saw her when no one else did. Saw the way her smile wavered when she was tired, how she chewed at her nails when she was nervous, how she always left the last bite of food like she wasn't sure she deserved to finish it. Her girlfriend noticed things no one had ever cared to notice and cared about them. Now that they lived together, Sam would find her favorite coffee creamer magically restocked before it ran out, or a warm meal waiting when she came home late from the shop. To her, those small kindnesses felt bigger than any declaration of love she'd ever heard.

So when her girlfriend suggested meeting her family, it almost made sense. Almost.

---

The closer they got, the quieter Sam became. She pressed her forehead briefly against the cool glass of the passenger window as the familiar landmarks appeared: gas stations with faded awnings, the stretch of pasture where a herd of black-and-white cows always gathered near the fence line, the green-and-gold water tower that still declared Welcome to Maplewood! like it was trying to convince itself.

By the time her girlfriend turned down the oak-lined street, Sam's stomach was knotted so tight she thought she might be sick. Every yard was clipped short, flowerbeds manicured, porches painted and welcoming. The Hollis house looked almost unchanged: white siding, navy shutters, the same brass porch light that had glowed over every curfew she'd ever missed. Her mother's roses were in full bloom along the walk, climbing higher and fuller than Sam remembered, their fragrance heavy even through the rolled-down windows.

Her girlfriend parked at the curb, and Sam just sat there for a moment, fingers digging into her thighs. The screen door rattled before she'd even stepped out, her mother's silhouette appearing in the doorway, hands planted on her hips.

“Sammy?” Julie's voice was bright with surprise, but it wavered with the uncertainty of someone who wasn't quite sure how to greet a child they hadn't seen in too long. She came bustling down the steps, wiping her palms on her apron though it was spotless. Her eyes flicked over Sam in quick assessments—her weight, her perpetually frizzy hair, the chipping nail polish—before snapping toward her girlfriend with a smile that seemed a little too eager.

“Mom.” Sam managed a small nod, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jeans like she could make herself smaller.

Eric appeared next, pushing open the door with his shoulder. He still had that doctor's posture, ramrod straight even in casual clothes, his glasses glinting in the sunlight. His gaze landed on Sam, softened for a moment, then slid away like he wasn't sure what to say. “You made it.” was all he offered, his tone neutral, acknowledgment not welcome.

Chris came clattering down the stairs behind him, mirroring their father's strict posture. “Sam.” he said, giving her the kind of smile you'd give a distant cousin at a reunion. It was polite, even kind, but threaded with surprise as though he hadn't expected her to show up at all. He shook her girlfriend's hand firmly, doctor to stranger, then glanced back toward the house, already half-distracted.

And then Maddie, golden perfect Maddie, swept out like she owned the place, long blonde hair glinting in the sunlight. She leaned in for a quick hug, her perfume sharp and floral. “Wow, Sam, you look... different.” She meant it lightly, but the pause before the word said everything. Her gaze snagged briefly on Sam's outfit, an oversized esoteric band t-shirt and jeans, curiosity flickering before she smoothed it over with a grin for her girlfriend.

Sam stood there on the walkway, her ginger hair catching the sun, her freckles standing out starkly against skin that flushed too easily. She smiled, small and uncertain, while the others clustered around her like she was both one of them and not.

The house loomed behind them, doors open, the scent of roasted chicken and lemon cleaner spilling out. It should have felt like home. But to Sam, it was like stepping back into a life she'd left behind and been half-erased from.

And she knew without even stepping inside that tonight would not be easy.