Chapter 3

ELISHA’S POV

As I watched Anthony place Natalie into the backseat of his SUV, I became aware of a burning, dull pain radiating up my arm. My palm throbbed with a strange heat, and I glanced down.

Blood.

A deep gash tore across the flesh of my palm. 

It must’ve happened when Anthony shoved me away—when I stumbled backward into the shattered plate on the floor.

He didn’t notice. He hadn’t even looked back.

I quietly walked to the downstairs powder room, found the first-aid kit beneath the sink, and sat on the edge of the toilet, cleaning the wound myself. 

Antiseptic stung like betrayal. I wrapped it in gauze as tightly as I could and gritted my teeth against the pain.

The house was too quiet now.

Too still.

Just as I tossed the bloodstained tissues into the bin, my phone buzzed.

Anthony: WE’RE AT MONTGOMERY COLLEGE HOSPITAL. COME.

That was it.

No explanation. No apology. No, Are you okay?

Just a command, like I was a secretary summoned to the next crisis.

***

The hospital was familiar. Sterile. Bright. Overwhelming.

I walked the hall slowly, ignoring the tight ache in my hand. 

Room 205. I stopped just short of the door.

Through the glass, I saw Natalie curled into Anthony’s chest, tears glistening on her cheeks. His hand ran soothingly through her hair. 

He said something, and she laughed softly, even as she wiped her face.

My heart ached.

They looked so… natural.

As if this was how it had always been. 

I reached for the door, my fingers grazing the handle.

Then my phone rang.

Dominic. My brother.

I stepped away from the door and answered. “Hey.”

“Where are you?” his voice snapped through the line.

“At the hospital. Nat’s in College Hospital on Phil’s Street—”

“I know that,” he cut in. “I meant where are you in your head? Why aren’t you taking care of her?”

The question landed like a slap. 

Dominic had been my partner-in-crime growing up. My protector. He taught me how to drive before I had a license. Covered for me when I came home drunk. Sat with me through my first heartbreak.

But ever since Natalie returned… he’d changed. Just like the others. 

“I didn’t know she was allergic to anything in the dish—” I began.

“You owe her,” he said bluntly. “You know that, right?”

The words sliced deeper than the glass.

After the call ended, I stood frozen, the memory of every whispered comment flashing in my mind. 

How people stopped introducing me as “the Montgomery daughter” and started calling me “the adopted one.” How cousins took Natalie’s side in arguments without knowing the full story. How someone at a dinner once asked if I felt guilty for “living her life.”

Maybe they were right. Maybe I had stolen everything.

And maybe, in the end, I deserved to lose it.

I looked up again. Anthony was still holding her.

Does he think the same? That I stole her happiness?

Just then, the door opened, and a doctor stepped out, clipboard in hand. He blinked, surprised to see me.

“Mrs. Möller? You’re her sister, yes? Come in.”

I walked in stiffly.

Natalie immediately sat up, flustered. “My head was hurting,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Anthony was just helping me relax.”

Anthony didn’t say a word.

But his eyes dropped to my bandaged hand, frowning as he noticed it for the first time. I quickly hid it behind my back.

The doctor glanced at his notes. “Well, Miss Montgomery,” he said, addressing Natalie, “you’ve had an allergic reaction. Looks like you can’t have chicken eggs.” 

Natalie nodded, looking perfectly tragic. “I know that already. I told the family I was allergic to eggs after I came back… but my sister was married and living separately. She probably didn’t know.”

She turned to Anthony and gave him a soft smile. “Don’t blame her. It’s not her fault.”

My brows furrowed.

I hadn’t used eggs. Not in the pot pie and not in the dessert.

The doctor cleared his throat. “Also… one more thing. We ran a full panel while we were at it. Congratulations, Miss Montgomery.”

Everyone looked at him.

The doctor beamed. “You’re pregnant.”

The silence was deafening.

Pregnant?

Anthony blinked. Natalie went pale.

She didn’t even have a boyfriend. She barely left the house. Everyone knew that.

The doctor, sensing the tension, quickly wrapped up his notes and excused himself.

I couldn’t breathe.

I looked around for a chair but found no place to rest. I was still standing there, stunned, when Anthony finally opened his mouth to speak.

But Natalie beat him to it, bursting into tears.

“It must’ve happened at Dominic’s birthday,” she sobbed. “I drank a glass of wine… the one Eli handed me. The next thing I remember, I woke up in a strange man’s bed.”

My ears rang.

“What?” I said.

“I didn’t know what happened,” she wept, wiping her face. “I thought it was a dream. I tried to forget. But now…”

I stared at her.

“What are you trying to say?” I asked slowly. “Are you accusing me of drugging you?”

She gasped, looking shocked and wounded. “Well… didn’t you give me the wine?”

I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Why are you yelling at me?” she whimpered. “I’m the one who got hurt. I’m just telling the truth. You’re misunderstanding me on purpose.”

My voice shook as I turned to Anthony. “She’s lying. You know she’s lying.”

He looked at me the way someone might look at a stranger on the street.

Cold.

“This is no way to speak to your sister,” he said.

My lungs collapsed inward.

“Apologize to her. Now.”