Chapter 2

Lilly

“Let me help you, ma’am,” Dorcas said, guiding me into my chair.

I watched Victor walk away without so much as a glance in my direction. He was clearly still furious over my disastrous performance on stage, but his indifference cut deeper than any scolding could.

“Thank you, Dorcas,” I replied, forcing a smile for the only person in the house who treated me like a human being rather than a nuisance. She was in her early fifties and served as the head cook of the McCallum estate.

“You go and get prepared, ma’am, so Mr. McCallum isn’t kept waiting. I’ll clean up this mess and have the staff put the pieces together.”

I nodded, grateful yet fearful. “Will you be alright? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m fine, ma’am. You have nothing to worry about. Just go.”

I nodded, pressed my palms together in gratitude, and pushed the wheelchair toward the exit. I could have had an electric one. Something that would cause me less physical strain, but my husband was too busy to bother with updating my chair.

I was almost at the door when Dorcas called out. “Ma’am?”

I turned back, wiping the lingering tears from my burning cheeks.

“You should put an ice pack on those cheeks. It’s not a good sight, and it might swell.” She paused, as if contemplating whether to say more. “And… when you get the chance, please visit the hospital. Please don't give out too much blood. It might be dangerous.”

I furrowed my brow. Her genuine concern was something I hadn’t received in years. “A slap isn’t exactly a medical emergency, Dorcas. I’m fine.” I gave her a small, tight smile and headed out.

***

As expected, they were all there. My mother, Margaret, and Victor were all gathered beside Alina, the same girl for whom I’d donated blood only two months ago.

I still wondered what sort of coma required such frequent transfusions. An oxygen mask was strapped to her face, and my only daily prayer was that she would finally wake up.

The accident two years ago wasn't my fault. Not at all. My sister had insisted we go out after I landed a gig to dance at the Presidential Inauguration ball. She’d gotten me drunk to "celebrate" and then complained of sudden abdominal pain, forcing me to drive.

I had been sober enough to see the road clearly, but she had yanked the steering wheel, claiming she saw a dog she didn’t want to hit. I remembered it vividly: there was no dog on that road.

I woke up a week later to the worst news of my life. My legs were gone. Because the accident was blamed on me, my sister, who was at that time set to marry her boyfriend from college, a man I had always liked and even told her about before they started dating a week later. I was forced to take her place at the altar to remedy the situation and save the McCallum family image.

To them, that was the least I could do for a tragedy that was never my fault. But no one listened. They simply said I was jealous of my sister.

Victor had left me to make my own way to the hospital once he received the call that Alina was showing signs of improvement. I walked into the room filled with vipers.

“It took you long enough,” my mother screeched. “You should have worn a mask. I don’t want people associating me, or Alina, with you, especially after the way you disgraced us on stage today.”

I wanted to speak. I wanted to tell them it wasn't my fault the performance failed. But I kept quiet. I wasn't feeling well, I hadn't been for a long time, but no one ever noticed. I never mattered.

“I thought I told you to get here as fast as possible? You probably want your sister to die so you can take her place fully,” Margaret sneered, hitting me.

I glanced at Victor, who was busy staring at the woman sleeping in the bed. He didn't spare me a second look; his adoration was reserved entirely for her.

I turned away just as the doctor walked in.

“Mrs. McCallum, please come with me.”

It was time to give blood again. The doctor and I headed to the room where the transfusion was done. It didn't take long before I was hooked up to the IV, but for the first time, I felt unusually dizzy.

“Doctor?” I called out, my voice trembling as the uneasiness grew.

“Please don't talk, Mrs. McCallum. It is better if you remain silent.”

God. Even the doctor wouldn't listen to me.

“I’m… I’m not sure I can give more. I feel dizzy, and—”

The doctor finally looked at me, his expression shifting to one of mild concern. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Yes,” I whispered, panic rising. “Please. I feel like I might pass out.”

Maybe this was happening because I hadn't eaten and I was under so much stress. He signaled to the nurse, and the transfusion stopped. But the dizziness didn't fade.

“I’ll have to inform your family about this,” he said, giving me a dismissive smile before leaving. I didn't even have the chance to tell him I hadn't eaten—that the hunger was the likely culprit.

Before I could ask the nurse for help, she excused herself as well, leaving me to wonder if I was going to die right there. The weakness was spreading rapidly.

Just as I was trying to sit up, groaning in protest, my mother and Margaret burst into the room.

“Are you serious? How dare you ask the doctor to stop? Do you want your sister to die?”

I opened my mouth, desperate. “That… that wasn’t it. I feel weak and—”

“Excuses, excuses, and more excuses! That is all you are good for!” my mother spat. “I don't care how you're feeling. Stop the pretense. You will get back there and do what we brought you here to do!”

Tears welled in my eyes. “Mother, I’m weak…”

“Shut up and do as you’re told! You don’t want Victor to come in here and see you arguing with us,” Margaret hissed.

Both of them advanced toward me, but my vision was already blurring. Before they could reach me, I collapsed back onto the bed, the darkness finally shutting out their insults.