Chapter 7′′
“You’re lying. Do you have any evidence?”
Dad pounded his chest, face flushed with rage. “You’re suing us now? Do you even have a conscience?”
I wiped the blood from my face, my voice colder than ice.X
“Save it. See you in court.”
I tumed and walked away. Behind me, my parents shrieked, curses echoing through the hall.X
“You damned ingrate! You’ll pay for this, you hear me!”
The police took their time with the statement. By the time I dragged myself into the hospital, battered and bleeding, it was already deep into the night.
The nurse gasped when she cut open my sleeve.
The dried blood had fused with torn flesh, even the smallest tug sent waves of agony through me.[
“Bear with it,” the doctor muttered, pouring hydrogen peroxide over the wound. The hiss filled the room. I clenched my jaw and didn’t make a sound.}
“The girl who came in yesterday–she looks a lot like you,” the doctor said suddenly.B
“Just a scratch, but she screamed so loud her family accused us of abuse. They nearly called the police on me.“E
My fists tightened around the sheets, knuckles bone–white.
I knew exactly who he meant. Verena.”
Memories stabbed back–l
That summer, after I returned home, Verena handed me a glass of hot water with a smile. Then she turned and splashed it over my arm.
I froze, blistering skin buming raw, while she clutched her damp wrist and wailed, “I didn’t mean to! Sister, don’t be mad…”
My mother rushed to the hospital carrying her, dragging me along like baggage. I thought she wanted Verena to apologize after treatment. Instead, she fussed over her and snapped at me:
“What are you standing there for? Go buy Verena a strawberry cheesecake–the one from La Pâtisserie Royale.”
I had no money. She ordered me to put it on credit.
The shop owner chased me out with a broom, calling me a beggar without parents.
It was only when a man in a suit stopped and paid for me that someone finally looked at me. He crouched down, eyes soft.!! “Does it hurt?”
I shook my head, but by the time he turned away, I was choking on my sobs.”
“Alright, it’s done.“%
The doctor’s voice snapped me back to the present. “Change the dressing regularly, or it’ll get infected.”
I nodded, stepping out of the office–only to almost collide with Nicholas Harrington.
He was immaculate in a suit, fruit basket in hand. The moment he saw me, his face clouded.
I tried to walk past. He seized my injured wrist. Pain shot up my arm.1
“Miranda, how could you be so vicious? Verena has treated you well. She even said she’d share-
“Shut up!”
My voice was hoarse, but it cut like glass. “She said you wanted to break up with me long ago. Is that true?”
His eyes flickered “–”
“Yes? No? Which is it?” I sneered. “I, Miranda Locke, am not so pathetic that I need someone else to break up with me for me.” “She’s your sister!” he snapped. “It was your fault you got lost! If you hadn’t dragged her outside, how could she have been kidnapped? She told me everything–you ignored her for half an hour, then blamed her for it. How could you?”
A laugh tore from my throat, jagged and raw, but my eyes burned with tears.
“I was two years old. “W
