Juliana Salazar POV:
The hospital corridor felt endless, each step a testament to the pain I was fighting. I forced myself to walk, to appear normal. Getting home was a victory, but the air within the house felt thin and strange. The front door opened into a space that used to be my sanctuary, now a stage for their deception.
Elwin, my brother, was sprawled on the living room rug, a video game controller in his hands. Debbra sat beside him, patiently watching, her hand occasionally ruffling his hair. He looked up when I entered, his eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second before he flinched and pulled back. He did not say hello. Instead, he scooted closer to Debbra, his small body almost hiding behind hers.
It was a painful echo of a time when Debbra used to care for me in just such a way.
My gaze drifted to the mantelpiece, to a silver frame holding a photograph of the two of us, arms slung around each other on a graduation day years ago. I reached out, my fingers tracing the cool glass, before I turned to them. My mouth felt dry, cracked. "Hi, Elwin. Hi, Debbra." My voice sounded normal, annoyingly so.
Debbra turned, her face a mask of sweet concern. "Juliana! You're home! How are you feeling, sweetie?" She wore the silk robe I’d bought for her birthday, the one I’d admired for months before finally splurging on it for her. On her, the fabric seemed to catch the light differently, softer, more yielding. It always did.
She moved, not to hug me, but to stand, gracefully, in front of the fireplace. My spot. The place I always stood when I came home, to warm myself, to feel the house settle around me. She occupied it now, completely.
I'm... better, I lied, my smile fixed. I held a thick envelope in my hand. "Actually, Debbra, I have something for you."
She tilted her head, her expression one of innocent curiosity. "For me? Juliana, you shouldn't have. You always spoil me." Her eyes, however, held a gleam of avarice I was only now learning to recognize.
I walked over, my joints protesting each step, and placed the heavy manila envelope in her hand. It contained the deed to the Salazar family home, the house my parents built, the one I had saved from foreclosure after their death. The house where Elwin and I grew up.
She took it, her fingers trembling slightly. She opened it, scanning the document. Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. "Juliana... this is... the house. Our house. Are you serious?" Her voice was a shocked whisper.
It's just a house, Debbra, I said, my smile unwavering, even as a hollow space seemed to open up beneath my ribs, a cold draft where something solid used to be. "A gift. A special gift for a special friend. After all, you’ve done so much for Elwin, for us. It’s the least I can do."
For a split second, her composure faltered. A flicker of something dark—triumph mixed with a deep, unsettling confusion—crossed her face. Then, she quickly regained her innocent facade, her eyes welling up with tears. "Juliana, I... I don't know what to say. This is too much. You know how much this house means to you."
It means nothing to me now, I thought, the words cold and clear in my mind. My future was measured in weeks. What was a house to a dying woman?
I leaned in, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, just for her. "I just want you to be happy, Debbra. Truly. You deserve it. Just keep Elwin happy. That's all I ask."
Just then, Dalton walked in, fresh from a shower, his hair still damp. He froze, seeing us so close, my head near Debbra's ear. "What's going on here?" he demanded, a nervous edge to his voice.
Debbra burst into tears, dramatically clutching the deed to her chest. "Oh, Dalton! Juliana is so good to me! She's given me the house! Our house!" She sobbed into his shoulder, her voice muffled but loud enough to carry. "She's so kind, so selfless!"
Dalton looked from her to me, his expression unreadable. A mix of shock, relief, and a hint of accusation. He opened his mouth, but I cut him off.
I'm tired, I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I need to rest." I turned to Elwin, who was still glued to his game, barely acknowledging my presence. "Elwin, listen to Debbra, okay? She knows what's best for you."
He mumbled a noncommittal "Okay," his eyes never leaving the screen. Then, without looking at me, he turned to Debbra. "Debbra, can we get that new game you promised?"
Debbra smiled, a triumphant, almost imperceptible curve of her lips. "Of course, sweetie. Anything for you." She kissed the top of his head.
And then I heard it. A small, innocent voice, my brother’s voice, clear as a bell. "Thanks, Mom."
My breath hitched. The intricate pattern of the Persian rug seemed to writhe and swim before my eyes, and I put a hand against the cool plaster of the hallway wall to keep my balance. The physical pain was a dull throb compared to the gaping wound that had just been torn open in my soul. My brother, the boy I raised, the reason I fought so hard, had called another woman "Mom."
I locked myself in my bedroom, the last bastion of my privacy. The tears did not come. Instead, a dry, burning pressure built behind my eyes. The cancer, usually a silent, insidious thief, roared to life, its tendrils twisting through my bones, a white-hot agony. The painkillers, momentarily forgotten, couldn't touch this kind of pain.
I was dying. And they had already replaced me.
My gaze fell on my reflection in the full-length mirror. Gaunt, pale, eyes hollow. A stranger in my own clothes. "Three weeks," I whispered to the woman staring back at me, my voice a rasp. "Three weeks to ensure they inherit nothing but ghosts."
