Chapter 3

As I left, Luke followed, chattering away. "Mrs. Summers has it so rough. She lost all her hair from the illness, and Emily cries all the time worrying about her.

"Mom, don't be paranoid. Dad only came because Mrs. Summers is sick—he's just dropping off meals, nothing else."

I couldn't help but give him a look.

He felt bad for Linda being sick but not for me—never once considered how it felt to be deceived.

He even called me paranoid.

Wow, what a perfect son I'd raised.

"Can you not be like this?" Luke frowned. "Seriously, Mom, why are you so worked up? It's totally normal to visit a sick friend.

"You're the reason Dad and I have to hide things—because you always overreact and act so petty!

I gave a hollow laugh, tears in my eyes. "Overreact? Petty?

"After all I've done—cooking, cleaning, paying your way? I've worked myself to the bone for you, and you just bite my head off.

"If I were that petty, I'd have killed you long ago!"

"Ugh, you always pull this card! It's just cooking and laundry—big deal.

"You act like we owe you for life and freak out over the smallest thing. It's annoying.

"If I were Dad, I'd want to be around someone chill, like Mrs. Summers..." He caught himself. "Not that there's anything going on between them. I'm just saying... maybe the reason we hide things is you."

I stared at Luke, utterly floored. I couldn't believe my ears.

"Fine, have it your way!" I screamed, my eyes bloodshot. "You want reflection? I'll do nothing but reflect!"

My voice came out raw and broken, and all control was shattered. "How have I put up with two ungrateful traitors in this house? Working myself to the bone while you treat me like a doormat!

"God, why am I so pathetic? Maybe I really do deserve this crap!"

Hysterical, I started yelling, so furious I actually slapped myself across the face.

My meltdown didn't just scare Luke—it left everyone around us staring, stunned.

Just as Luke stood there helpless, a doctor made his way over, firmly grasped my wrist, and said in a steady voice, "Christine, calm down. Breathe—deep breaths..."

His words eased my agitation, just a little.

Burying my face in the doctor's chest and clutching his collar tight, I sucked in a shaky breath—and finally burst into tears.

The doctor steered me into the hospital room, shielding me from view. Through my tears, I heard him tell Luke, "If you've got any decency left, don't make things worse for her."

He helped me onto the bed. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed until I finally pulled myself together.

The nurse came over with a syringe. That was when I noticed how numb and frozen my hands and feet felt.

The doctor frowned. "You were in real danger. Getting that upset could've killed you—your lips turned blue. I'm giving you a sedative so you can sleep."

I nodded weakly. After the injection, lying in bed, I finally got a good look at his face.

It was another old face.

It was dark when I woke up. Five missed calls on my phone—four from coworkers, one from Luke's smartwatch.

He'd texted: [Mom, I'm sorry.]

I called my coworkers back and reassured them, then sat there thinking how I'd almost died from pure rage. The whole thing felt ridiculous.

Good thing I didn't actually die. If I had, I'd be so pissed in the afterlife I'd come back just to complain about it.

I headed for the door, but the nurse stopped me.

Minutes later, Michael Hart hurried over. "I'm almost done with my shift. Want to wait?"

I started to refuse, but with nowhere else to go, I ended up nodding.

I wasn't going back to that house.

Michael and I weren't close, but we knew each other from high school. We'd run into each other at a reunion a few years back.

He came out quickly in a change of clothes.

He was wearing a long black coat over a lean frame. For someone in his forties, he could easily pass for thirty.

"Hungry? How about fondue?" he asked.

I nodded. I loved fondue while neither James nor Luke did. So I hardly ever had it.

When the steaming pot arrived, Michael smiled, "Never thought I'd see this day. You were the ice queen back in school."

I smiled bitterly, "Even ice queens crack."

The steam made my eyes water. Or maybe I was tearing up again.

Michael grabbed a piece of bread and held it out. "If you want to talk, I'm here."

I stared at it and muttered self-deprecatingly, "It's been years since anyone did this for me. Every meal, I'm the one taking care of everyone else."

I said no more, and Michael didn't push, but whenever I started crying, he'd quietly hand me a tissue.

After we ate, he asked, "Where are you heading?"

I froze. I didn't want to go home, but I couldn't check into a hotel without my driver's license—still at the house.

"I've got an early flight tomorrow," Michael said. "Booked a hotel by the airport. My daughter gets scared staying alone. If you're okay with it, maybe spend the night at my place and keep her company?"

I instantly realized how considerate he was being.

I wanted to say no, but honestly, I had no reason.

At his place, a girl in fuzzy pajamas bounced over the second he opened the door. She grabbed my hand. "You're Ms. Taylor, right?"

I nodded and managed a weak smile.

She pulled me inside, beaming. "You're so pretty."

I couldn't help but laugh. With my puffy eyes and red nose from all the crying, I looked anything but pretty right now.

"I'm serious," she said. "You might be tired, but I can tell—you're naturally beautiful. With some makeup and nice clothes, you'd be stunning."

Her words warmed me. I smiled, "Thank you. What's your name?"

"Sophie Hart. Call me Sophie." She jumped up. "Ms. Taylor, wear my pajamas tonight—they're super comfy."

Before I could answer, Sophie ran off and came back with yellow-and-white fuzzy pajamas.

Just then, Michael emerged with a bag. "Take care of Ms. Taylor, okay? She's a close friend."

"Got it, Dad. Now go!" Sophie waved him off.

I almost said he didn't have to leave, but with Sophie there, it felt awkward. I watched him go, feeling guilty.