When I came out of the operating room, my legs were still trembling. As I passed the VIP room, the scene inside made me stop in my tracks.
"Claire, this is your favorite chicken soup from when you were little." Mom took the soup out of the microwave, carefully tested the temperature, and handed it to Dad.
He took it, blew on it gently several times, and only passed it to Byron after confirming it wasn't too hot. And Byron, the man who once said he only loved me, carefully scooped up a spoonful and brought it to Claire's lips.
"Drink slowly. Don't burn yourself." His voice was so tender it was painful to hear.
Claire shyly opened her mouth, but her gaze drifted over his shoulder and met mine at the door. A flash of triumph crossed her eyes before she quickly replaced it with a worried expression.
"How's Sharon? This is all my fault. I was driving too fast, trying to deliver that scarf she loves so much..."
I froze at the doorway. Scarf? I never liked scarves. Growing up, I never owned a single decent scarf. Claire, on the other hand, had a whole closet full of expensive ones.
Mom frowned in disgust. "She's always causing trouble, and now you're the one who got hurt."
Those words burned my heart as memories came flooding back.
When I was eight years old, Claire lost her footing and fell off a cliff. I desperately grabbed her hand, and a sharp rock sliced a long gash across my left cheek.
When my parents arrived, they only comforted Claire as she cried. None of them noticed my face bleeding profusely.
"What kind of sister are you?" Dad had demanded harshly.
When I was 16, Claire got into trouble with some thugs from outside school. I went to rescue her and nearly got beaten to death.
When we got home, my parents didn't offer a single word of concern. Instead, they blamed me for not watching over Claire properly.
In this family, I was always wrong. Over time, even I came to believe it. I was a criminal who didn't deserve love.
Until I met Byron.
When I had cramps, he stayed up all night rubbing my stomach, bringing me heating pads and tea. After I got pregnant, he patiently dried my hair and trimmed my toenails.
Those tender moments made me think someone finally loved me. But as it turned out, he never loved me at all. He loved my sister.
Tears blurred my vision. I dragged my weak body home, one step at a time. I had just booked a ticket on the earliest flight the day after tomorrow when I heard the door lock click.
Byron walked in, carrying Claire. My parents followed behind them. When they saw me, everyone froze.
"Why did you discharge yourself?" Byron frowned. "You didn't even tell me."
Claire nestled in his arms, secretly flashing a triumphant smile.
"Claire was worried about you. She wants to stay here for a while to keep you company," Mom explained. "We thought it was a good idea, so we brought her over."
I turned without a word and walked toward the bedroom. Behind me, I heard Dad's rebuke. "She can't even welcome her own sister. She's just so cold-blooded."
Byron called after me anxiously, but Claire suddenly cried out that she felt dizzy in his arms. My parents immediately crowded around her, fussing over her.
Byron shouted urgently, "Quick, give her the medicine!"
The entire living room descended into chaos. No one noticed my face, which was as pale as paper, or my body hunched over in pain.
I once thought I had finally found happiness, that I had a man who only had eyes for me and loved me wholeheartedly. But it was all just wishful thinking.
Late into the night, Byron finally returned to the bedroom. His hand gently touched my abdomen. "I'm sorry, baby. Daddy will take good care of you and Mommy from now on."
I kept my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. His palm was still warm, but all I felt was bone-chilling cold.
That place was already empty, but that was something he'd never find out.
