Chapter 5: Blame and Blood

I told him to call me when he was free, then turned to leave, heels clicking on the steps. I wanted this over.

But Michael called after me, voice sharp: "This morning when you called me, Nina answered. What did she say to you?"

His tone made me bristle—like I was being interrogated.

Two lifetimes’ worth of resentment boiled over. I spun around, voice dripping sarcasm: "You were lying in bed with her, weren’t you? Don’t you know what she said? Or were you too busy to notice whose phone was ringing?"

Michael flinched. His face ran through a dozen emotions in a blink.

Then, out of nowhere, his expression softened, gentle like he used to be. He exhaled, almost relieved.

In a rare, soft voice, he said, "You misunderstood. I drank too much, she sent me home, and I felt sick, so she stayed. That’s all it was, Sarah. You know how Nina is—she mothers everyone."

Ridiculous. We were getting divorced—why did he still need to explain?

But then, Michael coughed, face suddenly pale. The sound was harsh and wet, his hand pressed to his chest.

I couldn’t tell if it was real or another act. Did it even matter?

I turned to go, but he chased after me, grabbed my arm so hard it hurt.

His face was sickly, jaw tight, a vein throbbing in his temple.

"I said I’m not feeling well, don’t you care at all? What happened to ‘in sickness and in health,’ Sarah?"

Yes, I knew he was sick. But he’d made his choice. I pulled my arm away, voice flat: "Let go."

He squeezed tighter, desperate. The man who wanted a divorce now didn’t want to let go.

He stared at me, eyes burning, then suddenly released me like I’d shocked him. He coughed hard, pain twisting his face.

"...Fine, I’ll let you go. If that’s what you really want."

He tried to sound strong, but the heartbreak was obvious. Even now, he played the victim.

I walked away. But then I heard a sickening thud behind me—Michael had collapsed.

My hands shook so badly I almost dropped my phone dialing 911. Old reflexes—love, fear—took over before I could think.

I got him to the hospital, then called Nina. She’d want to know. She always did.

Soon, Nina rushed in, heels pounding the hallway. Zach trailed behind her, the whole gang showing up for their fallen prince.

I stood to greet them, ready to explain. Be civil, be helpful.

But Nina stormed over, face twisted with rage. She raised her hand and slapped me, hard. The crack of her palm against my cheek echoed down the sterile hallway. My skin stung, and for a second, all I could taste was copper and shame.

I just stood there, stunned. Tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

Nina spat, voice like ice: "You’re a jinx! Won’t you be satisfied until you kill him?! This is all your fault, Sarah. It’s always been your fault."

Her words burned worse than the slap. And for a split second, I wondered if she was right.