She lay on the bed, pale, legs wrapped in thick casts. Her eyes stared at nothing. Empty. My hand froze on hers—ice-cold, lifeless.
“Mom! It’s me—Isobel!”
Nothing. Not a flinch. Not a squeeze. Not even a breath.
“She can’t respond,” Marco murmured behind me. “Trauma too much. Doctors say… she may never recover.”
Tears blurred everything.
Then Lydia appeared. Pregnant. Smug. Crocodile tears glittering in the harsh hospital light.
“Isobel… I’m so sorry. If I could give you my strength, I would. You still have me.”
Bile rose in my throat. She came up to me and whispered in a voice only we could hear.
“Take care of yourself, Isobel. You’ll need strength… to watch me give Marco the family you never could.”
My nails dug into my palms. My chest heaved. Before I could think—
SLAP.
“You bitch!” I roared.
Lydia wailed, hand to her cheek. Marco swooped to her side instantly, fury misdirected.
“How could you?” he barked. “She saved you! Donated bone marrow!”
“She’s stressed, Marco. I don’t mind,” Lydia whimpered, playing the martyr.
Marco cradled her like porcelain, hiding her from the storm I was. “Ashamed, Isobel? Bullying already?”
I scoffed. Chest tight with fury. Walked away. But not before seeing him cup Lydia’s face, wipe her tears with the tenderness once meant for me.
Something inside me shattered into jagged glass. I curled into my hospital bed, gasping. My phone beeped—Piper.
Divorce papers. Flights. Plans.
“Yes,” I typed.
No hesitation. No mercy. The annual ceremony stays. Let the world see a broken Isobel today… but tomorrow? Tomorrow there will be no tears. Only revenge.