Chapter 2

I didn't sleep at all after Thanksgiving dinner.

At 7:00 AM, I woke up in a completely empty bed.

The sheets on Liam's side were cold.

He hadn't come back to our room once during the night.

I sat up, rubbing my burning eyes.

That's when I heard the water running in our en-suite master bathroom.

Thinking Liam was finally showering, I pushed the heavy oak door open to talk to him.

I froze.

Steam filled the room.

Standing at my vanity, wrapped tightly in my silk bridal robe, was Delaney.

She was casually opening my expensive La Mer face cream.

She was humming softly to herself.

"Delaney," I said, my voice dangerously low.

"What are you doing in here? The guest bedroom has its own bathroom."

Delaney didn't flinch.

She just looked at me through the mirror and offered a weak, pitiful smile.

"The guest shower is too small, Clara," she murmured.

She kept her voice fragile and trembling.

"Small, enclosed spaces remind me of... well, you know."

She lowered her eyes. "The closet my dad used to lock me in."

"Liam said it was perfectly fine if I used your shower so I wouldn't have a panic attack."

She wasn't just crossing a boundary.

She was weaponizing her past to bulldoze right through it.

"Take off my robe, Delaney," I said, refusing to back down.

"And you need to use the guest bathroom from now on. This is our private space."

Instantly, Delaney's lower lip began to quiver.

Her eyes filled with rapid, frantic tears.

She shrank back against the marble counter.

She clutched my silk robe to her chest as if I were about to physically strike her.

"What the hell is going on in here?"

Liam rushed through the doorway.

He was holding a small wooden tray with a steaming mug of chamomile tea and a fresh croissant.

Breakfast in bed.

For her.

He took one look at Delaney cowering against the sink.

He immediately dropped the tray onto the edge of our unmade bed.

"Laney, hey, look at me. Breathe," Liam cooed.

He rushed to her side and wrapped his arms securely around her trembling shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Lee," Delaney sobbed into his chest.

Her hands gripped his t-shirt tightly.

"I didn't mean to trespass. Clara is just so mad at me. I'll leave."

Liam's head snapped up.

He glared at me with an intensity that made my blood run cold.

"Are you out of your mind, Clara?" he hissed, his face red with anger.

"She had night terrors until 4:00 AM!"

"I told her to use this bathroom so she'd feel safe, and you're in here bullying her over a piece of silk?"

"I am not bullying her, Liam."

"I'm asking for basic privacy in my own bedroom."

"Get out," Liam snapped.

He shielded her completely from my view.

"Just leave us alone until you can find a single ounce of human empathy."

I walked out of my own bedroom.

I left my husband holding his stepsister in front of my vanity.

That night, I tried the communication route.

I sat Liam down and calmly used every rational, therapeutic phrase I knew.

I asked him to set healthy boundaries.

Liam looked at me like I was a monster.

"I have been protecting her since she was ten years old, Clara," he sighed.

He aggressively rubbed his temples.

"You're asking me to abandon a traumatized girl when she's spiraling."

"Why do you constantly make me choose between my wife and her mental health?"

"Because she uses her mental health to disrespect my marriage," I whispered.

"Because you have zero compassion!" he shot back.

His voice dripped with absolute disgust.

"If you stopped acting like a jealous, territorial high schooler and actually supported her, we wouldn't have this toxic environment."

He rolled over, turning his back to me.

I lay awake in the dark, listening to his steady breathing.

He didn't get it.

And he didn't want to.

I wasn't just fighting another woman.

I was fighting a ghost of trauma I wasn't allowed to question.

I was entirely alone.