Chapter 1

"I just feel so safe when I'm with you, Lee."

Delaney's voice was barely a whisper.

But in the dead silence of our living room, it might as well have been a shout.

It was our first Thanksgiving as a married couple.

I had spent two agonizing days in the kitchen, perfectly recreating Liam's late mother's holiday menu.

When I brought out the massive turkey, Liam just gave me a distracted nod.

But when his stepsister, Delaney, arrived an hour late, the entire dynamic of the room shifted.

She walked through the front door and kicked off her shoes.

She immediately went upstairs to our master bedroom to "get comfortable."

She came back down wearing Liam's oversized sweatpants and his favorite college sweatshirt.

Then, she bypassed the three empty chairs in the living room.

She squeezed right next to Liam on the loveseat, pressing her thigh flush against his.

No one in his extended family said a word.

They just stared awkwardly at their wine glasses.

I stood frozen by the kitchen island, my nails biting into my palms.

"I got you something, Lee," Delaney murmured.

She pulled a small, battered leather journal from her bag.

"I found it in my old boxes. It's the diary I kept the year our parents got married."

She lowered her voice. "The year you saved me from my dad."

Liam's breath hitched.

He set his beer down and took the journal as if it were a holy relic.

"Read the sticky note," she whispered, her eyes welling with perfectly timed tears.

Liam opened the cover.

Whatever he read made his eyes turn red.

Right there, in front of our entire family, he reached out.

He pulled Delaney onto his lap.

He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, buried his face in her neck, and rocked her gently.

"I'll always protect you, Laney," he whispered into her hair. "You're my number one."

My stomach turned to lead.

I looked at the massive holiday feast I had meticulously prepared, sitting cold on the dining table.

My exhausting labor of love hadn't earned a single ounce of his attention.

But Delaney had effortlessly hijacked the entire night with a prop from their past.

When the house was finally empty, I confronted him while he was wiping down the counters.

"Liam, what happened on the couch tonight was deeply inappropriate," I said, keeping my voice low.

"She's a grown woman. You don't hold her on your lap in front of your wife."

Liam threw the sponge into the sink.

He turned to me, his face twisting with absolute disgust.

"Are you seriously doing this right now?" he sneered.

"She was having an anxiety spike! You know what her biological dad did to her. She is my sister, Clara!"

"She's your stepsister," I corrected, my hands shaking.

"And I'm not saying you can't comfort her, but the way you hold her... it crosses a line."

"You have a sick, twisted mind," Liam shouted, pointing an angry finger at my chest.

"To sexualize a traumatized girl seeking comfort from her family?"

He looked me up and down. "You need psychological help, Clara. I'm disgusted by you."

He stormed out of the kitchen.

He left me drowning in a sudden wave of toxic guilt.

Was I the monster?

Was I just a jealous, unhinged wife projecting dirty thoughts onto an innocent bond?

My phone buzzed on the counter.

It was a Facebook notification.

Delaney had just posted a picture.

It was a selfie of her lying in our guest bed.

In the background, Liam was walking into the room, carrying a glass of water and an extra blanket for her.

The caption read:

Panic attacks suck, but I'm so lucky my brother always drops everything to sleep on my floor and keep the nightmares away. Don't know what I'd do without my protector.

She made sure to tag me in the post.