Free Will

Sunday felt unlike any other day Samuel could remember.

He had spoken to Lily in a way they never had before. For years, they had occupied the same house as siblings who cared about each other without ever becoming particularly close. Now, after one impossible morning, something between them had shifted. For the first time, Samuel felt that Lily had seen something vulnerable in him and responded without judgment, disgust, or fear.

She had seen Samantha—and instead of pulling away, she had offered makeup wipes, discretion, clothing, and what she had enthusiastically described as the full sister experience.

It was a connection Samuel had never expected to share with her. One he was beginning to understand Samantha had given them.

The rest of the day was less peaceful.

His emotions rose and fell without warning as he replayed everything that had happened at the reception. It had been one of Samantha’s most carefully prepared appearances. Samuel had allowed Andrew not only to meet her but to watch her emerge. Emily had seen the entire transformation as well, from Samuel arriving at the closed salon with a suitcase to Samantha leaving in a navy cocktail dress, borrowed jewelry, and heels.

Then he had seen Tiffany again.

After nearly a month apart, one look had been enough to remind him that he had not moved on. Tiffany was still the woman he imagined when he thought about love, even if the possibility of being together had seemed impossible.

And then there was Daphne.

She had frightened him, controlled him, and forced Samantha to remain alive long after Samuel had intended to let her disappear. He should have hated her.

He did not.

That realization troubled him almost as much as anything she had done.

As eight o’clock approached, Samuel dressed for the restaurant.

He put on khaki chinos, a white button-down shirt, and brown loafers. The clothes were ordinary. Familiar. Entirely his.

Yet when he looked in the mirror, he experienced the strange sensation that something was wrong.

For weeks, every meeting with Daphne had required preparation. A skirt. A dress. Makeup. The wig. A version of himself assembled according to someone else’s instructions.

Now there was only Samuel.

He ran a hand through his own hair, picked up his keys, and left.

The drive to the restaurant felt longer than it had the first time.

On that night, he had arrived in a green satin dress and heels, terrified of meeting the stranger who knew his secret. Tonight, he wore a white shirt and chinos, and the person waiting for him was no longer a stranger.

Daphne was already seated when he entered.

She looked up as he approached but did not smile.

Samuel sat across from her.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The silence should have been uncomfortable. Instead, it felt strangely familiar, like the quiet they had once shared when they were younger and neither of them needed to fill every moment with conversation.

Daphne broke it first.

“I’m sorry.”

Samuel looked at her.

There was no playfulness in her expression. No carefully controlled smile.

“I know you may never completely understand what I felt or what made me do any of it,” she continued. “But I’m not going to use that as an excuse. None of what I did can be justified.”

Samuel remained silent.

“It began because I genuinely wanted to spend time with you again. I missed you.” Daphne folded her hands on the table. “And I won’t lie—the idea of Samantha amused me. I thought it might be a way to punish you a little for shutting me out.”

“A little?”

“I know.”

She lowered her gaze.

“I kept telling myself it was a game. That I would never actually expose you. But I made you believe I would, and that was enough to control you.”

Samuel’s jaw tightened.

“When I realized how much power that gave me, I went far too far,” Daphne said. “Every time you followed an instruction, it became easier to give you another one. I began to enjoy knowing you couldn’t refuse me.”

“That part I noticed.”

“I’m sure you did.”

A faint, ashamed smile appeared and disappeared.

“I loved having you back,” she said. “Even if Samantha was the only way I could do it. And I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy spending time with her, too.”

Daphne reached for her phone and opened a folder.

She turned the screen toward him.

The first photograph was the one taken outside St. Catherine’s: Samantha in uniform, her phone in her hand.

The second showed her in the fuchsia gown at the Graduation Gala.

Below them were screenshots of the anonymous messages and a small collection of ordinary photographs taken at Willow House events—Samantha helping children at an activity table, standing beside Jenna during a staff meeting, crouching beside Maya while they worked on a project.

Nothing indecent. Nothing Samuel had not done openly.

Still, seeing his secret life gathered inside a single folder made his stomach tighten.

She selected everything and pressed delete.

The photographs disappeared.

Then she opened the recently deleted folder and erased them again. She deleted the screenshots, the anonymous conversation, and the temporary number she had used.

When she finished, she placed the phone facedown on the table.

“I promise you, by the friendship we once had, that there are no other copies.”

Samuel studied her face.

“I would have liked to keep one picture,” she admitted. “Not as evidence. Just as a memory of Samantha.”

For the first time that evening, Samuel’s expression softened.

“I knew you weren’t completely terrible.”

Daphne looked up.

A timid smile passed between them.

“I also want you to know that you don’t have to return to Willow House,” she said. “I’ve already arranged to cover Samantha’s remaining shifts.”

Samuel frowned.

“You did?”

“I wanted you to have a real way out before I spoke to you. I can explain that she had a family emergency and couldn’t complete the program.”

“And the gala?”

“I’ll take her place.”

Samuel raised an eyebrow.

Daphne sighed.

“I’m not thrilled about crowns, giant skirts, and crinolines, but I assume I hate them less than you do. I’ll be the princess I was trying so hard to turn Samantha into.”

Samuel continued staring at her.

Daphne shifted uncomfortably.

“There may be one final confession.”

“What did you do?”

“Technically, you never entered the princess raffle.”

“I know that.”

“I entered you.”

Samuel narrowed his eyes. “That still shouldn’t have guaranteed I was selected.”

Daphne winced.

“I prepared the slips before the meeting. I folded yours more tightly than the others and wedged it just beneath the inner rim of the drum. The first three drawings were completely fair. Before the fourth, I turned the drum so your slip was directly beneath Marianne’s fingers.”

Samuel stared at her.

“You rigged the raffle.”

“Only twenty-five percent of it.”

“Daphne.”

“Marianne had no idea.”

Daphne covered her face with both hands.

“But I’m going to make it right. Publicly wearing a princess gown and walking in a parade should be sufficient punishment.”

“It won’t be necessary,” Samuel said quietly.

“And I promise to be the most graceful, feminine princess Willow House has ever—”

“I’ll do it.”

Daphne continued as though she had not heard him.

“I only hope I don’t fall over the skirt or get lost inside one of the crinolines—”

“I said I’ll be the princess.”

She stopped.

“What?”

“I’ll do it.”

“Why?”

Samuel looked down at the table.

“I thought you wanted to be free of all this,” Daphne said. “I thought you wanted to lock Samantha away and never see her again.”

“At first, I did.”

“And now?”

Samuel considered the question.

“I still don’t love everything about it. That dress sounds enormous, and I’m not particularly excited about spending another day in makeup and heels.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“But I don’t hate being Samantha once in a while.”

Daphne watched him carefully.

“What I hated was not being the one who chose.”

Something in her expression changed.

Samuel continued.

“There’s also Maya. I promised her I would be there. I told her we would be princesses together.”

“I can stay with her.”

“No.”

“Samuel, you don’t have to prove anything.”

“I’m not trying to prove anything.”

“Then why?”

“Because she needs the person who made the promise.”

Daphne was quiet.

“And you don’t need to cover Samantha’s remaining shifts,” Samuel added. “She’ll finish the summer program.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“Then why would you?”

“Because I want to.”

The simplicity of the answer seemed to affect Daphne more than anything else he had said.

“I’m not doing it for you,” Samuel continued. “I’m doing it for myself. For Maya. For Willow House.”

Daphne nodded slowly.

“I understand.”

“And maybe a little for Samantha.”

A faint smile touched her lips.

“I’m glad.”

Samuel lifted a hand.

“Don’t misunderstand me. You never get to decide when Samantha appears again.”

“I know.”

“Not the outfit. Not the place. Not the reason.”

“I know.”

“If she comes back, it will be because I chose it.”

Daphne met his eyes.

“I promise.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then Samuel surprised himself.

“I also want to thank you.”

Daphne blinked. “For blackmailing you?”

“Not for that.”

“Good. I was concerned.”

Samuel looked toward the window.

“At Willow House, Samantha became a friend. She became someone the children trusted. She was a little light for people who live with a lot of darkness.” His voice softened. “She became an anchor for a girl who didn’t trust anyone.”

Daphne’s eyes began to shine.

“I used to think none of that belonged to me,” Samuel said. “That Samantha had done it because Samuel never could.”

He paused.

“But I did it. Samantha just helped me discover that I was capable of it.”

A tear slipped down Daphne’s cheek.

Samuel quickly looked away before his own could follow.

“And,” he added, “you’ve given me a much greater appreciation for everything my future wife may have to do when she wants to look beautiful for me.”

Daphne laughed through her tears.

“You’re welcome.”

“Apparently false lashes are an act of devotion.”

“And don’t forget that I introduced you to the comfort, freedom, and refreshing breeze of wearing a skirt.”

“I was hoping to forget that part.”

“You can’t deny it.”

“I absolutely can.”

Daphne wiped her cheek.

Samuel took a breath.

“I forgive you, Daphne.”

Her laughter faded.

“And I believe you,” Samuel continued. “I believe the pictures are gone. I believe you would never expose me.”

Daphne searched his face.

“You still trust me?”

“Yes.” He allowed himself a small smile. “That doesn’t mean I’m giving you control of my wardrobe again.”

Daphne laughed softly, tears still bright in her eyes.

“I can live with that.”

Samuel looked down for a moment.

“When we’re both ready,” Samuel said, “maybe we can find out whether our friendship still works.”

“I’d like that.”

She smiled.

“I might even consider accepting you as my brother-in-law someday.”

Samuel laughed.

“I doubt your parents will be thrilled.”

“They may surprise you.”

“I also doubt Tiffany wants a boyfriend who walks in heels better than she does.”

Daphne leaned back.

“We’ll see.”

Her expression became strangely confident.

“You might be surprised.”

 

When Samuel returned home, he opened Samantha’s suitcase to put away the few things he had left out after the reception.

The black satin nightgown lay near the bottom.

The last time he had worn it, Daphne had ordered him to lock the door and send a photograph. For a moment, the memory made the fabric feel like evidence again.

Samuel could have thrown it away.

Instead, he lifted it from the suitcase.

He had chosen the nightgown before Daphne ever asked to see it.

He changed into it before bed.

There was no wig, no makeup, no camera, and no message waiting for proof. Only the cool satin settling against his skin and the quiet certainty that no one else had made this choice for him.

This time, the nightgown belonged to Samuel.

 

On Monday morning, Samuel woke before his alarm.

There was no anonymous message waiting on his phone. No instructions about what to wear. No threat explaining what would happen if he stayed home.

He could have turned off the alarm and gone back to sleep.

Instead, he got out of bed.

He transformed anyway.

 

Another week at Willow House came to an end.

By Friday afternoon, the gala was only eight days away. Every staff meeting had become a list of final preparations: food, decorations, sponsors, staging, children’s costumes, parade positions, emergency supplies, photographs, music, and the complicated logistics of getting four adult princesses into enormous gowns.

When the meeting ended, Samantha left the building in the uniform she had once hated.

The white blouse no longer felt like part of a costume. The pale-blue-and-white striped pinafore had softened after weeks of washing, and its pockets carried the familiar collection of pens, tissues, hair ties, and small objects children had asked her to hold.

Her hair was arranged in the braided bun Jenna had taught her, and her badge still read:

Samantha Brooks
Summer Volunteer

She reached her car but did not start it immediately.

A series of messages had appeared in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Skirt.

Maddie: I can’t believe Samantha is going on a shopping trip without us.

Riley: Traitor.

Natalie: Let’s see if she is as helpful as we were.

Samuel: Don’t be jealous. There are enough Samantha shopping trips to go around.

Riley: Trips? Plural? I’m saving this message.

Maddie: You’re forgiven. Temporarily.

Natalie: I want another turn choosing your clothes.

Samuel: I promised one more trip. Nobody said anything about unlimited access.

Riley: Too late. Screenshot taken.

The passenger door opened.

Lily slid into the seat and looked at Samantha with undisguised delight.

“So,” she said, fastening her seat belt, “are you ready, little sister?”

Samantha locked the phone.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

They drove toward the same mall where Samuel had purchased most of Samantha’s wardrobe.

This time, he needed something unusually specific.

Walking beside Lily as Samantha felt different from shopping with Natalie, Maddie, and Riley. The girls had helped create her; Lily had known Samuel his entire life and still linked her arm through Samantha’s as though the two of them had always gone shopping as sisters.

A saleswoman glanced at them and smiled with the easy recognition people gave siblings. Lily noticed the assumption too.

She smiled back without correcting it.

Samuel pretended not to notice how much that affected him.

The costume coordinator had provided exact requirements for the princess shoes: closed-toe, silver or pale blue, secure enough for the parade, and a heel of approximately two inches so the gown would fall at the correct length.

Lily had offered several pairs from her closet. None fit properly. The heels from the Patron Reception were too high and too delicate for a gown that would already be difficult to manage.

After visits to four stores, Lily found a pair of silver satin pumps with rounded toes, broad two-inch heels, and narrow ankle straps.

“They’re practical,” Samuel said after walking across the store.

Lily looked offended.

“They’re beautiful.”

“They’re stable.”

“They can be both.”

Samuel turned toward the mirror.

The silver caught the light without appearing too bright. The heel was high enough to set the gown at the correct length and improve his posture, but low enough that he could imagine surviving several hours in them.

Lily appeared beside his reflection.

“Those are the ones.”

“You sound very certain.”

“I’m your sister. This is the kind of authority I’ve been promised.”

Samuel smiled despite himself.

“Fine.”

Lily linked her arm through his.

“Now we need stockings.”

Samuel closed his eyes.

“I knew there would be a second part.”

“There is always a second part.”