I signed my own discharge forms and left the hospital with nothing but my coat and my silence. The air outside hit colder than I expected. I took it as a sign—there was nothing left for me here. Not warmth. Not family. Not love.
I returned to the mansion to collect a few things before I’d vanish for good. No one noticed. The house was abuzz with preparations for the annual Montera gala. Guests. Lights. Champagne flutes. Patricia in center stage, directing florists and string quartets like she was the queen of it all.
She turned and offered me a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, you’re back. Alicia… I’m sorry about what happened. I didn’t mean for you to get sick.”
My mother looked up from the planner. “She just wants attention. Always has. And if she knew she was allergic, why would she eat it? What a useless bitch!”
I looked down. It hurts. But I didn’t want it to burn inside me.
Then my mother tossed a clipboard at me. “Since you’re here, help organize the final details. And if anything goes wrong, it’s on you.”
Of course. Always me.