They won’t Know

Cassie

I don’t know how long I sit there. Could be twenty minutes. Could be an hour. Time feels strange right now, like it’s moving too fast and too slow at the same time.

Eventually I get up. My legs are stiff and my back aches from sitting on the hard floor, but I make it to the break room and pour myself another cup of coffee even though it tastes like dirt and I know it’s not going to help.

The room’s fuller now. Day shift’s starting to trickle in, a few early arrivals getting their caffeine fix before rounds start. I take my usual spot in the corner, the chair by the window that nobody else likes because the air conditioner vent blows cold air directly on it.

I’m halfway through my cup when Renee walks in. She spots me, raises an eyebrow. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

She pours herself coffee. Leans against the counter. “Double?”

“Triple.”

“Jesus, Cass.”

Two more nurses come in behind her. Shauna and Beth. They head straight for the coffee pot, already mid-conversation.

“I’m just saying,” Shauna’s shaking her head, stirring sugar into her cup. “No one’s going to last. Did you hear what happened to the last one?”

Beth stifles a yawn. “She quit after three days, right?”

“Three days. The one before that made it a week.”

Renee glances at me, then back at them. “Who are we talking about?”

“That Petrova case.” Shauna takes a sip, makes a face. “Rich family. Paralyzed son. Paying twenty grand a month for a live-in caregiver and they can’t keep anyone longer than a week. His mother’s been through, what, eight caregivers in the last six months? Nine?”

My hand tightens around my coffee cup.

Twenty thousand.

“Why not?” Renee asks.

“Because he’s impossible.” Shauna dumps her coffee in the sink. “Won’t talk. Won’t let anyone touch him. Apparently he just sits in that mansion and makes everyone miserable.”

Beth winces. “That’s sad.”

Shauna grabs her bag. “They’re desperate though. Six month contract. One-twenty total if you can stick it out but I bet anyone can make it that far.”

Renee whistles low. “Damn.”

“Yeah. But I wouldn’t do it for double. That family’s cursed.”

The name sits in my chest like a stone.

Petrova.

“Wait.” Beth’s voice drops. “Isn’t that the family from that accident? A few years ago?”

“Yeah. The daughter died. God. Lily… she was only fourteen. Brother was driving. Kai Petrova. Car got hit and she died at the scene. He’s in a wheelchair now.”

Everything goes quiet inside my head.

Kai Petrova.

Five years ago.

Lily. Fourteen. In the passenger seat.

And Miles—

“After something like that, I’m not surprised he’s difficult,” Beth says softly, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Shauna shrugs. “Anyway. If you know anyone desperate enough.”

They leave.

Renee’s still leaning against the counter, watching me. “You okay?”

I nod.

She doesn’t believe me. “Cassie—”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine in months.” She crosses her arms. “What’s going on?”

I can’t tell her. Can’t explain that my mom has six months. That I need eighty thousand dollars and that the only job that pays enough belongs to the family my brother destroyed.

“Just tired,” I say instead.

She looks at me for a long moment. Then sighs. “You’re working yourself to death, you know that?”

“I know.”

“And you’re still not going to ask for help.”

“Ren—”

“I know. I know.” She pushes off the counter. “Just… don’t forget you’ve got people, okay? You don’t have to do everything alone.”

She pats my back and leaves.

And I sit there with my cold coffee, staring at nothing.

Twenty thousand a month.

One-twenty thousand total.

Enough for Mom’s surgery. Enough to pay rent for the next year. Enough to keep Mara in school and Jonah in his medication and maybe—maybe—give Miles the space to figure out his life without me sending him money he just uses to barely get by.

Kai Petrova.

The name echoes in my head over and over.

***

I don’t go home right away.

Instead I walk. Not far—just down to the subway station and back—because I need to move, need to feel my body doing something other than sitting and breaking.

By the time I get back to the apartment, the sun’s starting to come up. Gray light filtering through dirty windows, making everything look washed out and tired.

I unlock the door as quietly as I can.

Jonah’s asleep on the couch. He’s too big for it now—his legs hang off the edge, one arm thrown over his face and the other holding onto his inhaler—but he’s curled up under the blanket I bought him last Christmas. His sketchbook’s on the floor next to him, open to a page covered in dark, jagged lines.

I kneel down. Look at the drawing.

Monsters again.

Always monsters.

Claws and teeth and too many eyes, things that don’t look human but almost are, things that are breaking apart or putting themselves back together. I can never tell which.

I close the sketchbook gently. Brush the hair off his forehead. He doesn’t wake up, just makes a small sound in his sleep and shifts a little.

Mara’s door is closed. I can hear music coming from inside, something with heavy bass and angry lyrics. She’s awake. Probably hasn’t slept. Probably waited up for me and then gave up sometime around two.

I don’t knock.

I go to the bathroom instead. Close the door and turn the lock.

The tile is cold when I sit down on the floor. I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my forehead against them, trying to breathe, trying to think.

Twenty thousand dollars a month.

Six months.

One-twenty thousand dollars.

I pull out my phone. My hands won’t stay steady.

There’s a contact saved in my notes. I added it months ago, maybe longer. Back when I was desperate enough to look him up, to see what happened to him after the accident, after the trial, after everything.

Petrova Estate – Inquiries.

My thumb hovers over the number.

I changed my last name after the accident. Took Mom’s maiden name—Brennan instead of Morrison—because I couldn’t handle the stares anymore. The whispers.

‘That’s the family. The one whose son killed that little girl.’

So they won’t know I am.

But I’ll know.

My eyes move to the small scar on my left wrist from the night after the accident. I’ll know every single day that I’m the sister of the man who killed Lily Petrova. Who destroyed Kai Petrova’s life.

I can’t do this.

I can’t walk into that house every day and lie to his face.

It’s so wrong.

But Mom’s face won’t leave my head. The way she smiled at me last week even though she could barely keep her eyes open.

And Mara’s angry texts.

And Jonah’s drawings of monsters.

And Miles on parole, one mistake away from going back to prison, calling me every week asking for money because he can’t hold down a job, can’t sleep, can’t function.

And me.

Sitting on a bathroom floor at dawn with eighty thousand dollars between my mother’s life and her death.

I press call before I can talk myself out of it.

It rings once.

Twice.

My heartbeat thuds hard enough to sting.

Three times.

Four.

“Petrova residence.”

A woman’s voice come on the line. Professional and crisp. I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

“Hello?”

“I—” My throat is so tight I can barely get the words out. “I’m calling about the caregiver position.”