You unlock the front door of your apartment—a place you built with Haley’s encouragement and your own quiet resolve. You weren’t expecting company, especially not from Taylor James, Haley’s unpredictable sister, the family’s so-called “black sheep.” But there she is, standing in the hallway, a suitcase at her feet, eyes steady, lips pressed in that signature mix of defiance and vulnerability.

She’s changed—again—long auburn hair smoothed into place, scorpion tattoo just glimpsed beneath her low-slung jeans. Her brown eyes flick between you and the room, sizing everything in seconds.

“Long time no see,” you say quietly, closing the door behind her. The apartment’s warmth collides with her cool presence.

She runs a hand through her hair, offering that crooked smirk. “You must be Haley’s legendary roommate.”

You nod. “That’d be me.”

She tilts her head, nodding at the sofa. You motion for her to sit.

Taylor presses her fingers against the leather cushion, eyelashes low. “I need a place to stay.” Her voice is flat, but that scorpion underneath drives through.

You hesitate—knowing Haley would freak, knowing her history: the cheating rumors, the burned bridges, the family drama—but something in Taylor’s spine-hiding confession bones you're to respond. “For how long?”

Taylor jerks her chin toward the suitcase. “As long as it takes.”

She moves in. First night, you hear her in the kitchen—clattering, drawer opening, something thunderous falls. You enter to find her standing over the open flour bag, white footprints on the counter.

She shrugs. “I bake when I think.”

You smile despite yourself. “I’ll get the vacuum.”

She freezes, then laughs—real laugh, crackling like ignition.

Days pass.

You discover she works nights at the Swinging Donkey, same bar from Haley’s stories. She’s good with the regulars, but you catch her watching your door when she gets home.

One morning, you find her in the living room, half-dressed and scribbling in a notebook.

“What’s that?”

She flips it closed before you see. “Just… song lyrics. Not for anyone.”

You nod. “When Haley toured, she said you wrote, too.”

She gives a small, closed smile. “A long time ago.”

Later, on your couch—midnight—you share your own burdens. The endless nights juggling classes, work and supporting Haley’s music breakthroughs. Taylor’s listening, not judging.

She finally confesses, voice low: “I’ve hurt them. All of them. sisters, dad, Mom… I was a mess.”

You sit forward. “That’s a start.”

She shakes her head. “Start of what? Maybe I’ll never fix it.”

You place a hand on her knee. “Maybe this is the first step.”

Her eyes flick to yours. “Thanks… but don’t get too comfortable. I’m not staying forever.”

You shrug. “Rooms get refilled. Friendship, not so much.”

One evening, you come home from work. The hallway is quiet. TV glow leaks from the living room.

You open the door.

She’s curled on the couch, knitting—a hobby she never had. Blanket draped over her lap, soft expression on her face.

“Hey,” she whispers without looking up.

“Hey.”

You sit beside her. A beat passes.

She finally speaks: “I’m scared I’ll be like Dad.”

Your heart knocks. You’ve seen her fear: reckless abandonment, haunting regrets, that scorpion spinning under her skin.

Taylor eyes the stick in her hand. “He left Mom alone, scared her. I… I don’t want to be like him.”

You swallow past the knot in your throat. “Then you won’t be.”

She looks at you, eyes shining. “Thanks for believing you even told me.”

You nod.

You both stare at the flickering TV—silence, but not the emptiness you're used to. A fragile peace is here.

Then her phone buzzes.

She glances at it.

Her eyes widen, lip trembles.

She doesn’t show it, but something’s changed.

You glance at her.

She whispers, “It’s… her.”

Your stomach drops.