Behind him stood Blake. And holding Blake's hand, looking radiant and very much not in need of a doctor, was Vera.
Blake looked up at her, his face glowing with adoration.
"Auntie Vera, I checked online," he announced, ignoring me completely. "For your back injury, you have to eat fish to heal faster. That's why I told Mom to make the pickled fish stew today. It should be ready for us right now."
Blake marched into the kitchen, expectations high. When he saw the pristine, empty counters, his face curdled into a scowl.
"Mom, I just asked Auntie Vera to go to the school event instead of you. Do you really have to throw a tantrum? Smashing bowls and refusing to cook?"
Harrison checked his watch, brow furrowed. His gaze landed on me, heavy with accusation.
"Vera's stomach is sensitive after years abroad. If she doesn't eat on schedule, she gets sick. I'm taking her out now." His tone hardened. "Sara, clean up this mess, then meet us at the restaurant I texted you. And vacuum thoroughly—Vera has a dust allergy. Don't miss a corner."
I caught the glint in Vera's eyes as they fawned over her. Not gratitude. Triumph.
That single, smug look severed the last thread of our friendship.