Chapter 2

After I left the hospital, Mom's body was taken to the funeral home.

Before she died, she had told me that if that day ever came, she wanted her ashes scattered at sea.

She wanted to break free of her illness and finally be free, with nothing holding her down.

Not getting to see me happy with her own eyes was already a regret.

This last wish, at least, I would make sure came true.

When it was all over and I got home, Helena was wearing my lace nightgown, her bare shoulder pressed right up against Callum's.

The two of them were going over their research under the harsh overhead light.

"What took you so long?"

Callum glanced up at me. A second later, his eyes went back to their research.

"Make her a bowl of chicken noodle soup. Lots of onions, go easy on the salt. Do not cook the noodles for too long. No carrots. When the noodles are done, cover them and let them sit for two minutes."

He rattled it off fast, every step in perfect order, as smoothly as if he were reciting a passage he'd memorized in high school.

He had completely forgotten that a few days earlier, I'd scalded my hand with boiling water making late-night food for the two of them. There was no way I could cook noodles.

When I didn't move, Helena pouted, pretending to be hurt.

"Forget it. I won't force anyone. If you want something done, do it yourself."

She walked straight to the refrigerator and opened the door.

Then she pulled out a few airtight containers of homemade doughnuts, each carefully sealed.

Mom had made them for me while she still had a little strength left, kneading the dough and frying them herself.

"What are you doing?!"

I reached out to grab the doughnuts back, but Helena dug her nails into the container and wouldn't let go.

"My mom made those for me. I never said you could have them. Who said you could touch my things?!"

I yanked the container back hard. The force accidentally bent back one of Helena's nails.

Callum's brows drew together at once, and he snapped at me.

"You're making this much of a fuss over a stupid doughnut? Helena's hands are going to be in the operating room saving lives. If she ends up with permanent damage, are you going to take responsibility for that?"

All he could see was her hands. He didn't even notice the black suit I was wearing.

A chill crept through my chest.

Mom had already thought of him as her son-in-law. He was the man I'd loved with my whole heart for seven years.

Seven years of swallowing my pride, and in the end, it wasn't worth as much as her hands.

"If she hadn't taken my things without asking, I wouldn't have had to grab them back and hurt her nail.

"And my mom made those for me. I couldn't even bring myself to eat them. What gives you the right to just take them?!"

Callum's frown deepened. He was about to lay into me again, but Helena held out a hand to stop him.

"Forget it. It's just a doughnut. If I want one, I can buy my own.

"It's just..."

Her eyes swept over me, full of pity and quiet judgment.

Then she lowered her voice and spoke to Callum.

"From my years of clinical experience with patients, I can tell you something is wrong with Rosalie mentally. Her behavior and speech are extreme. She's volatile, and she makes a mountain out of every molehill.

"Textbook paranoid disorder."

It was absurd.

Yes, I'd lost control of my emotions, but that was because I'd just lost my mother.

All I wanted was to hold on to the last little thing Mom left me. How had that turned me into a mental patient who needed treatment?

Before I could say a word, Helena stormed out and slammed the door behind her.

Callum was left standing there, his face ashen.

After a long time, he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking helpless.

"Rosalie, I'm tired."

There was no expression on his face. Helena's words had clearly gotten to him.

"Especially every time you throw a fit for no reason. It wears me out, body and soul.

"You know what? Someone in my department died again today. I face life and death every day. I'm under enormous pressure. I just don't have the energy left to deal with your mood swings."

Something inside me caved in.

All the hurt and grief came surging up.

In that moment, I suddenly wanted to ask him: do you even know who that patient was?

Do you know that the tantrum you're talking about is because I just lost my mom?

But before I could open my mouth, the phone in his pocket rang.

He pulled it out and glanced at the screen, and his frown eased at once.

"Emergency surgery. I've got to go.

"Take some time to calm down. When I get a chance, I'll take you to see a therapist."