Chapter 6
Zoe even tipped it to get the last dregs, swallowing the bitterness without hesitation.
Then she slammed the empty cup down.
That afternoon, blood poured out from between her thighs, hot and thick.
She curled up on the icy bathroom floor, watching the glaring red spill across the tiles.
Outside the door, there was nothing but suffocating silence.
By now, it was the third time, and she hadn't even realized she was pregnant.
That tiny life had been washed away by the allergic reaction before it ever had a chance to exist.
She ran her hand over her flat belly; strangely, she felt calm inside.
She didn't feel any pain now.
Maybe it was better this way. The last thing tying her to Stanley was gone.
The hospital room door was shoved open with a loud bang.
Stanley strode in first, his face dark and stormy.
Lillian followed just half a step behind him.
The tube had been removed from Zoe's throat, but red, swollen marks still ringed her neck. Her face was puffy, the rash spreading all the way to her ears.
She leaned back against the headboard and looked at them.
"What the hell are you trying to pull?" Stanley's voice was low, but heavy with anger. "You knew you were allergic, and you still ate it. Are you trying to kill yourself?"
Zoe didn't respond.
Stanley moved closer, planting his hands on the bed's edge. His tall figure leaned in, completely engulfing her in his shadow.
"Was this to get yourself into the hospital so Lillian would feel guilty?" he asked. "Or so people outside would blame her?"
The air in the room turned cold.
"How can you be this petty?" he snapped. "Lillian didn't know about your allergy. She was being kind, making you peanut soup, and you use your own life to frame her."
Behind him, Lillian tugged at his sleeve. "Stanley, please stop. Zoe's still weak. If she gets upset and something happens, I'll never be able to forgive myself."
"I need to make this clear today." He shook her off, his eyes locked on Zoe's pale face. "If you dare pull something like this again to ruin Lillian's reputation, I won't let it slide."
Zoe slowly raised her hand. She hooked her fingernails under the tape on the back of her hand and ripped it off in one motion, tearing skin with it. Tiny beads of blood surfaced instantly.
Without a flicker of emotion, she pulled the IV needle out. Blood spread across the white sheets.
"Yes," she said quietly. "I did it on purpose."
Stanley was stunned.
"I'm sorry, Lillian," she said, her voice flat.
She didn't argue or explain. She simply accepted what they had already decided was the truth.
Stanley's lips parted slightly. All the words he'd been ready to throw at her—every insult, every accusation—stalled in his throat.
He frowned, staring into her eyes. He'd known those eyes for almost ten years.
They used to be full of life—flashing red when she was angry, lighting up when she laughed, and sparkling with jealousy when she cared too much.
But now, they were empty. There was nothing left in them.
A wave of restless frustration welled up in his chest, so suffocating it felt like he could barely breathe.
He jerked upright and stormed out without another word. "Fine. Once you're discharged, come straight home. Don't embarrass me out here."
The door slammed behind him. Lillian hurried after him, her heels clicking quickly down the hall.
Silence settled over the room again.
Zoe lowered her eyes to the blood on the back of her hand, grabbed a cotton swab, and absently pressed it down a couple of times.
Once the bleeding stopped, she reached under her pillow, took out her phone, and opened the notes app.
On the screen was a list of her last words.
Her birthday was five days away.
Around three that afternoon, Zoe came back from the hospital and went straight to the guest room. She sat on the edge of the bed and changed the gauze on her wounds.
The allergic rash on her back still hadn't fully faded. The wound on her neck from the tube was still seeping. She cleaned it with an iodine swab, then covered it with a fresh bandage.
From downstairs came the steady hum of several car engines, all blending into one.
Tires crunched over the gravel. Car doors slammed. Men laughed, loud and careless, their voices carrying through the house.
Zoe walked over to the window and glanced down.
Three sports cars had pulled up in the yard. A few young men in expensive suits stepped out, carrying bottles of liquor and neatly wrapped gift boxes.
She knew the guy at the front right away.
It was Marty.
He was twenty-eight now, the eldest son of the Perry family, known everywhere as a useless rich kid.
A year ago, he had been the one who set her up.
He wore a dark green suit, his hair slicked back to show a smooth forehead and a pair of narrow, smiling eyes.
When he smiled, those eyes creased into thin lines, making it impossible to tell what he was really thinking.
Stanley came out of the living room to greet him.
They bumped fists. Marty slung an arm around Stanley's shoulders and said something under his breath, and the two of them burst out laughing.
Lillian came out from behind them, wearing an apron and holding a plate of fruit. She smiled warmly at the group. "Marty, you're here. Come in."
"Lillian, you look as beautiful as ever," Marty said with an easy grin.
"You're such a flirt." Lillian laughed.
They greeted each other like old friends, voices bright and easy. No one mentioned Zoe. No one asked where she was.