Novel-novel oleh Lara P

DAMIAN Three days after the accident, Marcus calls again. "Tell me you're not going back to the hospital." I keep my eyes on the road. "I'm going." "Damian—" "She's awake." Silence. "The hospital called this morning," I continue. "She woke up an hour ago." "That changes nothing. You called the ambulance. You gave your statement to the police. Your legal obligation is done." "She's alone, Marcus." "How do you know that?" "The hospital told me. No ID. No family has come forward." I switch lanes. "No one." "Which is exactly why you need to stay away." His voice sharpens. "If she sues—and she will sue—every hospital visit you make strengthens her case. You're establishing a pattern of guilt." "I am guilty." "You hit someone who walked into traffic at night—" "I should have seen her." "The police cleared you." "I don't care." He makes a sound like he wants to throw his phone. "You're impossible to defend." "I'm not asking you to defend it." I hang up. --- My father di

LUCY "I'm sorry," Robert tells them, his voice breaking. "I need to get her out of here." "Of course," David says quietly. "Whatever she needs." Robert helps me stand. My legs won't work. He wraps an arm around my waist, supporting my weight. "Come on," he says gently. "Let's go." I don't remember walking to his car or the gate closing behind us. Just fragments: streetlights sliding past the window. Robert's knuckles white on the steering wheel. My breath fogging the glass. And the thought, over and over: My father died thinking I didn't care enough to come home. --- Robert helps me inside his house and sits me on the couch. He sits across from me, elbows on his knees. "I thought you knew," he says finally. "Lucy, I swear I thought you knew. Kelvin told everyone at the funeral that you'd just had surgery. Emergency surgery. That you couldn't travel. That it was too dangerous for you to come." I stare at him. "There was no s-surgery." My voice comes out hoarse. "I was her

LUCY "We're here, miss." I look up. The iron gates of Oakridge estate stand exactly where they've always stood. Tall. Black. Home. My hands shake as I pay the driver. The Uber pulls away. The gate's right there. Twenty feet away. I walk. My legs feel disconnected from my body. I knock. Metal against metal. The gate opens a crack. A man peers out, suspicious. "Yes?" "I–I need to c-come inside." "Who are you looking for?" "My father. Richard M-Morrison." His brow furrows. "Morrison?" "Yes. He owns this place. I'm his d-daughter." "I don't know any Morrison." His tone sharpens. "Who told you to come here?" "N-no one told me. This is my f-father's house. I grew up here." "Look, I don't know what you're—" Headlights sweep across us. A car slows at the gate. Expensive. Silver sedan. The guard steps back. "That's Mr. Chen." The gate swings open. The car rolls forward, then stops. The window lowers. A man leans out, his wife beside him. Both studying me. "Is there a pro

LUCY They're all waiting when I come downstairs. Kelvin on the couch, Miranda beside him with her hand on her stomach. Patricia standing like a sentinel. Diane perched on the arm of a chair, scrolling her phone. My family. Except they never were, were they? "Sit," Kelvin says. There's nowhere to sit except the floor or a chair across from them, far away. I take the chair. Kelvin leans forward, elbows on his knees. He looks tired. Annoyed. Like I'm an appointment that ran long. "I need you to sign these." He tosses papers onto the coffee table. They slide toward me. "Divorce papers. My lawyer drew them up." I stare at the documents. "Lucy." He sounds impatient now. "Did you hear me?" "Why?" The word comes out broken. "Why what?" "Why did you–" I can't finish. My stutter tangles everything. "We're m-married. You asked me to w-wait for–" "Oh, for God's sake." Patricia sighs. "Do we really have to spell it out?" "I'll spell it out," Kelvin says. He sits back, one arm draped a

LUCY I can't move. People flow around me like I'm a rock in a river – reuniting families, businessmen on phones, a child crying for ice cream. The announcements keep echoing overhead, something about baggage claim, but the words don't land. My wife. Kelvin's voice loops in my head. My wife. My wife. My wife. "Lucy." Patricia's snap cuts through the fog. "The bags. Now." She's standing at the luggage carousel with Diane. Kelvin and Miranda are already gone – I didn't even see them leave. How long have I been standing here? My legs remember how to move before my brain does. The bags come around on the belt. Designer luggage, expensive-looking. Patricia grabs the largest one – a massive hard-shell case – and shoves it at me. It slams into my stomach before I can brace myself. "Carry that," she orders. The bag is impossibly heavy, packed tight with what feels like bricks. My arms strain as I grip the handle, trying to keep it upright. "Don't just stand there," Patricia snaps, g

LUCY The red dress doesn't fit anymore. I know this before I even zip it. Four years ago, Kelvin bought it for me the week before our wedding; silk that fell like water, a neckline that made me feel beautiful. Back then, it whispered against my ribs. Now it clings. I suck in my stomach. The zipper protests halfway up my back. My fingers shake as I try again. The zipper gives another inch, then stops. I can barely breathe, but I don't care. Kelvin loved this dress. He told me I looked like a dream in it. That was four years ago, when he still looked at me like I mattered. The guestroom’s door crashes open. "Oh, Lucy." Patricia's voice drips disgust before I even turn around. "What on earth are you wearing?" My mother-in-law stands in the doorway, her face twisted like she's smelled something rotten. Diane appears behind her, already smirking. "I – I thought –" My stutter catches immediately, the way it always does when I'm nervous. "K-Kelvin bought this for –" "Four years ago,