Chapter 3

Over the next few days, I quietly organized my documents and sorted out what little I needed to take.

On Thanksgiving, my mother insisted on hosting a family dinner.

I spent hours in the kitchen, sweating over boiling pots and a roasting turkey, while laughter drifted in from the living room.

"Kylie really is blossoming into such a lovely young lady," my aunt cooed. "Honestly, standing next to Ethan, they look like a couple from a magazine!"

"Tell me about it," my mother chimed in, beaming. "Our Kylie is so sweet and attentive. Not like some people, who walk around acting like high-and-mighty princesses."

Carrying the final platter into the dining room, I heard my mother holding Kylie's hand, addressing the relatives.

"Kylie actually knows how to show affection. Unlike Chloe, who always wears that miserable, sour face, as if the world owes her millions!"

I set the dish down without a word.

Throughout dinner, my mother heaped food onto Kylie's plate.

Ethan sat beside Kylie, carefully deboning fish for her.

"Ethan, you're the best," Kylie chirped, turning to me with an innocent grin. "Chloe, you're so lucky to have a husband like him!"

I kept my head down, eating mechanically, offering no reply.

My aunt cleared her throat. "So, Chloe, you two have been married three years now. When are we getting a baby? A woman's place is taking care of her family, after all."

Before I could open my mouth, Kylie spoke up. "Auntie, don't pressure her! Ethan mentioned Chloe is still dreaming about studying art abroad."

My mother's face instantly soured.

"A married woman, instead of settling down and supporting her husband, running off chasing foolish nonsense!"

I looked at Ethan. He carefully avoided my eyes, casually sipping his wine as if none of this involved him.

The food in my mouth suddenly tasted like ash.

I put down my fork and stood up.

"I'm full. Excuse me."

"What kind of attitude is that?!" My mother slammed her palm onto the table. "The whole family is sitting right here! Who are you rolling your eyes at?"

Kylie sprang to her feet, grasping my wrist with tear-filled eyes.

"Chloe, please, it's my fault. I shouldn't have brought it up. Please sit back down. Mom and Ethan are just worried about you."

The more saintly and fragile she acted, the more petty and vindictive I appeared.

"Let go," I said, yanking my arm back.

With a dramatic gasp, Kylie stumbled backward into her dining chair.

Her glass wobbled and tipped over, red juice splashing completely across her pristine white designer dress.

In the next second, Ethan shoved me hard out of the way, lunging to catch Kylie.

Caught completely off guard, I lost my balance.

The back of my head slammed violently against the sharp edge of the mahogany credenza. My vision went black, and a deafening ringing filled my ears.

"Kylie, are you okay? Did you get hurt?" Ethan panicked, checking her arms.

A warm, sticky liquid trickled down the back of my neck. I reached back with a trembling hand; my fingers came away slick with blood.

"Chloe, have you lost your damn mind?!"

Ethan spun around, glaring at me with sheer disgust.

His eyes registered only the stain on Kylie's dress, completely blind to the blood pooling in my hair.

"She was only trying to calm you down! How could you shove her?!"

"I didn't push her," I whispered, clutching the back of my head.

"We all saw it!" My mother pointed a shaking finger at me. "You're just jealous because everyone loves Kylie! How on earth did I raise such a cruel, vicious monster?!"

Kylie wept softly against Ethan's chest, trembling. "Don't blame Chloe... it was my own clumsiness... Ethan, please don't yell at her..."

I looked at Ethan cradling Kylie, and at my mother and relatives glaring at me with open hatred.

A sudden, terrifying numbness washed over me.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips, though tears slipped down my cheeks.

"You're right. I'm vicious. I can't stand the sight of her."

I turned toward the hallway.

Behind me, Ethan's voice rang out, cold and merciless.

"Chloe Vance, you apologize to Kylie right now!"

I walked into the guest room and locked the door behind me.

Blood dripped from my hair, staining the collar of my white knit sweater.

Using cotton pads and antiseptic from a small first-aid kit, I cleaned the gash myself, hissing in agony as the alcohol burned into the open wound.

Outside, the commotion eventually died down, followed by the heavy slam of the front door.

Half an hour later, my phone vibrated. A text from Ethan:

Kylie had a panic-induced arrhythmia because of you. We're at the emergency room. Are you happy now, Chloe?

Staring at the screen, a dull, hollow ache throbbed in my chest.

Then, an email notification popped up:

Flight confirmed. Departure tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM.