Chapter 2

The next morning, I pulled out my IV right after the surgery to pin my broken finger and headed straight for the Ashcroft family estate. The doctor chased me to the door and tried to stop me.

"The pin was just set. If you put any strain on it or get it wet, you could lose that finger for good."

But today was the first day of Grandpa's wake. He had always hated being alone, and I had promised him that no matter what happened, I would be there to see him off.

The driveway was lined with luxury cars. Extended family and Grandpa's old friends had all come. I climbed the front steps through the searing pain of the anesthesia wearing off, but two bodyguards crossed their arms and blocked my path.

Through the open front doors, I could see the viewing room. There had been two chairs at the front, but now only one remained.

Wyatt sat in the place of honor wearing the suit I'd had tailored for the service, my initials and Grandpa's monogrammed inside the jacket. My own coat had been thrown in the trash, stained with coffee and covered in footprints. Even the front-row seating reserved for family only had Wyatt's name on it.

I shoved past the bodyguards. "Get out of my way."

My right hand caught one of their arms, and a bolt of pain shot through my entire body. The color drained from my face, but I kept forcing my way through.

"That's my grandfather in there! You have no right to keep me out!"

The commotion drew the attention of the guests inside. Wyatt was in the middle of reading the eulogy. I only caught a few lines before my blood ran cold.

It was my eulogy, the one I had written word by word at Grandpa's bedside. Every single memory in it was something that had happened between Grandpa and me.

When the pain kept him up all night, I was the one who knelt by his bed and rubbed his legs. When his medication left a bitter taste in his mouth, I was the one who kept candy in my pocket for him.

The last time he was lucid, he held my hand and told me that once he got better, he still wanted to take me to see the ocean down south.

But now that Wyatt was the one saying them, every one of those memories had become proof that he spent three years by Grandpa's side. The whole room was tearing up.

Dad helped Wyatt to his feet and wiped away his tears. "Wyatt spent three years taking care of Grandpa. It wrecked his health, and now he's still pushing himself to be here for the send-off."

I couldn't hold it in anymore. "It wasn't him! I was the one who took care of Grandpa!"

The room went silent, and everyone turned to look at me. I broke free of the bodyguards and stumbled to the doorway, blood soaking through the bandage on my right hand.

"Wyatt, take off my suit. Give me back my eulogy! You never took care of Grandpa. What gives you the right to sit up there and say those things? Don't you dare disrespect his memory like this."

Wyatt went pale, and the tears came instantly. "I know you blame Grandpa for leaving everything to me, but today is about him. Can you please stop making a scene?"

"This isn't about the inheritance!"

I turned desperately to the guests. "Grandpa was in the hospital for three years, and I was there every single day, commuting between two cities. The nurses and doctors can all vouch for me! He only showed up a few days before Grandpa died!"

Mom marched over and shoved me out through the doors. My back slammed against the doorframe and my vision went black for a second.

"Haven't you embarrassed us enough? First you fight over the inheritance at the funeral, and now you want to take credit for everything Wyatt did!"

"I just want to pay my respects." My voice shook, and I couldn't stop it.

She didn't flinch.

Tamara walked out of the viewing room too. Her eyes landed on my bloodied bandage, and something shifted in her expression for just a moment.

There was a time when a small cut from a kitchen knife would have had her sitting me down to clean and dress the wound herself, and she wouldn't let me near a blade for days.

But now my finger had been broken by her own hand, the wound was bleeding right in front of her, and she couldn't even ask if it hurt.

I caught hold of her sleeve like it was the last lifeline I had. "Tamara, you know the truth. I was the one who took care of Grandpa! Are you really going to take this from me too, just to give it to Wyatt?

"I don't even have to go inside. Just let me see him from the doorway. I promised him I'd be here to see him off. Tamara, I'm begging you."

She looked at me for a few seconds, then pulled her arm free.

The two heavy wooden doors closed in my face. I pounded on them with my left hand, crying out Grandpa's name, but no one inside answered.

In the last sliver before the doors shut completely, I saw Mom handing Wyatt a candle to light. Dad guided him back to his chair, and Tamara stood beside him, receiving the mourners beside him. The four of them kept vigil over Grandpa together, like they were a real family.

And I was locked outside, unable to even see his photo.

By noon, the sky opened up into a downpour. I dropped to my knees on the front steps and refused to leave. Rain poured down my collar and soaked through the fresh stitches on my hand.

The white lilies I had brought were scattered by the wind. Every time I got up to gather them, the bodyguards shoved me back into the rain.

It wasn't until dark that Leonard arrived with an umbrella. When he helped me up, I was shaking too hard to stand on my own.

"The first thing your grandfather instructed me to deliver has arrived."

I kept hold of the crushed lilies and looked back at the sealed doors of the viewing room, tears mixing with the rain.

"They wouldn't let me see him off." I wiped my eyes with my trembling left hand. "Then let Grandpa be the one to see them off."