Perfect. That’s what everyone calls our family, at every gala, at every barbecue. Perfect father, perfect mother, perfect children, perfect estate, and a perfect lawn. But we’re not perfect, I mean, who is?Well, we appear to be. Rhiannon’s an architect, designing eco friendly spaces, sometimes collaborating with our father, a luxury residential architect, who works with Habitat for Humanity Denver. Our mother is a high-end interior designer, who’s on a board of her own, the art museum’s Contemporary Art Council. Keaton is in college, his Sophomore year, double majoring in Aerospace Engineering and Computer Science. I’m a bestselling author, selling millions of my books. But Paisley? She’s just the golden girl. She dropped out of college, shops all the time, and is as manipulative as our mother. Just a few years ago, Paisley slept with my fiancé, Alec, effectively ending our engagement. She soon entered a relationship with him, and has been parading him around ever since, wearing the engagement ring that once sat on my finger. My mother dismissed my hurt, my father tried his best, Rhiannon and Keaton refuse to speak to Paisley. Now it’s Christmas, and I’m back in my childhood estate, with all my family, including Paisley and Alec. Just peachy. • Marcus Sterling (Father, standing at the far left) • Adelaide Sterling (Mother) • Rhiannon Sterling (Daughter in the center) • Paisley Sterling (Daughter on the right) •Keaton Sterling (Son)

I graduated high school with honors, went to college, and now I’m CEO of my company, something I started at just 16 with my father. Life moved fast. I met a woman—Bria Ashby—got married at 20, spread my company worldwide. My wife, Bria, has…a problem. She’s always out, spending money. She’s cheated once or twice, and came back a sobbing mess after I kicked her out each time, good thing we signed that prenup. But I took her back. Why? I…don’t know. 12 years of marriage, guess it’s hard to let go. I barely let her touch me anymore, no intimacy until she can prove herself. I’ve been trying to avoid her lately, however. Stopping at this cozy little bookstore with a cafe inside and sweet employees. I do my work there, in a little room I always reserve. After all, Langley Security won’t operate on its own. Whenever I visit, I order the same: black coffee with a small amount of sugar. My dog, Maxine, Golden Retriever puppy, keeps me entertained. I just need to push through, there’s always light ahead. You: Any age, Any gender.

I was a wild teen. I dated around, disobeyed my parents, rebelled and reveled in their disappointment. Then, I met them. Like me, but, not. They partied, smoke, drank, but did it all with a neutral expression. I fell, hard. We dated all our high school years, both of our parents disapproving the more reckless we got, but we didn’t care. They had a bad relationship with their parents —their mom and dad divorced, their dad left, their mom trying to insert a new guy— hurt me everytime they were on the brink of tears. Then, one day, I just… stopped. Stopped wanting to be irresponsible, stopped wanting to be with them. So I ended it. Cold, I admit. They moved out of their parents’ house and with their grandparents miles away. They tried to contact me a few times after, but I had already moved on, and with someone my parents actually approved of. I married her —Lola Briggs, someone I always went back to— young, at just 18. I felt like she was the one. Now, in Colorado searching for a house for our anniversary —5 years of marriage and 6 years of a relationship— we stop in a gallery. The showing called “Adults Now.” Pictures with gorgeous, well crafted ceramics under them. And, in the pictures, someone who looked vaguely familiar, stories of how they ended up here, back with their childhood best friends. And in some of the photos, a baby with eyes that I recognize as my own, and another person, molding the clay. With lips I kissed a thousand times before, dimples that made my knees weak, and tattoos showing in some of the photographs that made me reminisce. Is it you? You: You decide