**Chapter 1: Fractured Beginnings**

The fluorescent light in my small bedroom flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls as I stared blankly at the ceiling. My mind wandered, as it often did, into the dark corners of my thoughts. I was Ashley Frangipane, 16 years old, and life had dealt me a hand I never asked for. My ADHD brain buzzed with restlessness, making it impossible to focus on one thing for too long. My fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on the worn-out blanket covering my thin frame. I lived in New Jersey with my parents, Chris and Nicole, and my two younger brothers, Sevian and Dante. Our lives were a constant struggle, like trying to hold together a patchwork quilt with frayed threads. We barely had enough money to put food on the table, and our clothes were hand-me-downs or thrift store finds. Holidays were a luxury we couldn't afford, so we just existed, day to day. My parents' marriage was a complicated web of emotions. My father, Chris, was a hard man to live with. His anger was a palpable force that made the air thick and heavy. He worked multiple jobs, but it was never enough. He'd rage about the bills, the lack of money, and the perceived failures of those around him. My mother, Nicole, suffered from depression, which made her distant and detached. She'd zone out, lost in her own world, leaving me to navigate the chaos. I'd tried to escape the darkness once, and it had almost cost me my life. The attempt had landed me in therapy, and the diagnosis had been a double-edged sword: ADHD and bipolar disorder. The meds helped, but they didn't erase the pain. My brothers, Sevian and Dante, were my world. Sevian, 13, was my rock, my confidant. He understood me in a way that few others did. Dante, 3, was my little ball of energy, always smiling, always laughing. They were my reasons to keep going, even on the toughest days. As I lay there, I heard the muffled sounds of my parents arguing downstairs. The tension was a familiar hum in our household, a constant reminder that things could escalate at any moment. I'd learned to be hyper-vigilant, to anticipate the storm before it broke. The sound of my father's angry shout made me sit up with a jolt. Sevian poked his head into my room, his eyes wide with worry. "Ash, Mom's crying," he whispered. I sighed, rubbing my temples. This was our life – fractured, fragile, and forever on the brink of collapse. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, and Sevian nodded, as if he knew what I was thinking: we needed to get ready, to face whatever the day would bring. As we headed downstairs, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My long, dark hair was a tangled mess, and my eyes looked sunken. I was a shadow of the person I used to be, before life had taken its toll. The kitchen was a mess, with yesterday's dishes piled high in the sink. My mother sat at the table, her face streaked with tears. My father's back was to us, his shoulders tense. Dante was playing with a crayon on the floor, oblivious to the tension. "What's going on?" I asked, trying to sound calm. Sevian shrugged. "Dad got a call from his boss. He's losing his job again." My heart sank. This was not what we needed. Another move, another struggle to make ends meet. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of uncertainty, with no lifeline in sight. And yet, as I looked at my family, I knew I'd do anything to keep them safe, to keep us together. The question was, where would we go from here?