“She didn’t care!” Sabrina sniffled, clutching his arm. “I was bleeding, and she just stood there!”
I froze, ladle still in hand.
“You didn’t help her?” Gabriel barked. “What is wrong with you?”
Sabrina held Nathan’s arm like a lifeline.
“I was trying,” she whispered, “but she… pushed me away.”
“I didn’t touch you,” I said softly, but no one was listening.
“I didn’t touch you,” I said quietly, but no one listened.
They were too busy hovering over Sabrina, who cradled her hand like it had been severed and not barely nicked. Her performance was flawless—wide teary eyes, a quivering lip, trembling shoulders. Every gesture perfectly calculated.
“You should’ve stopped her!” Nathan snapped at me. “She’s still recovering! Why did you let her near the kitchen?”
“I told her no,” I murmured. “She didn’t listen to me. Why are you blaming me?”
Gabriel’s glare could’ve sliced me in half. “You should’ve insisted. You know she’s not well. You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”
“And what about you?” I muttered under my breath. “I’m not well either.”
But again, no one heard me. Or maybe they chose not to.