I rolled my eyes. “You’re biased.”
“No. I just know you. You’ve got something, B. They’re going to see it too.”
He waited outside the studio until I was checked in, then peeked inside when they started setting up. I saw him mouth you’ve got this before slipping out to grab a coffee.
The shoot felt like a blur—fast, bright, exciting. The photographer was intense, but in a good way. The stylist raved about my hair. And when I saw the shots on the screen, I couldn’t believe it was me.
“This is it,” I whispered under my breath. “This is what I want.”
.
Two days later, the magazine hit the stands.
My phone exploded.
People from school messaged me. Some I hadn’t heard from in years. My face was on the fourth page, draped in sheer satin, staring right at the camera with something between pain and defiance. The caption read: The Edge of Innocence.
When I showed Jasper, he whistled. “Told you. You’re a star.”
But it didn’t take long for Mom to change her tune.
She marched into my room with the magazine in hand, a bright, artificial smile plastered on her face.
“I just spoke to Elaine—she saw this! She couldn’t believe how stunning you looked.”
I blinked at her. “You hated the idea of modeling last week.”
She waved it off. “I was just being cautious. But now that people are talking—Brittany, you’ve always had the face for this.”
I watched her claim my moment like it had always been hers.
At dinner that night, she gushed to Dad’s friends about her daughter’s magazine feature. How she always knew I had potential. She never mentioned the things she’d said before.
I sat there quietly, picking at my food, feeling both proud and hollow.
Later that week, I overheard her on the phone with a friend.
“Yes, it’s such a big deal… She’s always been talented. Of course, she gets that from my side… Jasper? Oh, he’s doing well too. But Brittany—she’s our rising star now.”
My heart twisted.
I wasn’t her daughter. I was her trophy.
That night, I sat on the floor of Jasper’s room. He was editing photos on his laptop, but paused when he saw me.
“Wanna talk?”
I nodded, curling into the hoodie I’d stolen from him two years ago.
“She’s pretending like she’s always supported me. Like I didn’t have to fight for every ounce of belief.”
Jasper leaned back in his chair. “She’s always been like that. They both have. But it doesn’t matter. You did this. Not them.”
I stared up at the ceiling. “It still hurts.”
“I know.”
He nudged my foot. “But you’re doing it anyway. That’s what counts.”
