Melanie Summers brought her paralyzed childhood friend home to take care of him, putting him first in everything.
She didn't care how I felt. She even made me wash his feet, empty his bedpan, and clean up after him.
Six months later.
I brought home a homeless disabled girl.
"She has mental health issues and no one to look after her. She'd get hurt out there on her own. I couldn't just leave her."
Melanie, who always preached about being generous, lost it.
"Valentine Gilbert! Have you lost your mind?!"
"You brought another woman home? A mentally ill one, no less? Are you really that desperate?"
...
I met Melanie's interrogation-room glare with a frown.
"Can you drop the filthy assumptions? Can you show a shred of compassion? Would you rather stand by and watch a living, breathing person die?"
Six months ago, Melanie's childhood friend Boyd James was in a car accident. She spent a full month at the hospital caring for him, then insisted on bringing him home.
I objected.
Melanie shot back, "Boyd has no one else in this city. I can't just abandon him."
"Be a bigger person, would you? Show some compassion. Stop making everything into a problem!"
Now I'd done the exact same thing.
"That's completely different!"
Melanie's fists clenched at her sides. "I'm going to the hospital to pick up Boyd. When I get back, I don't want to see that woman here."
She slammed the door on her way out.
She thought a cold shoulder would make me fold.
Instead, I turned to the girl with a smile. "Sylvia, let me run you a bath and get you some clothes."
"Thank you, Valentine."
Sylvia Henson leaned on her crutch and nodded, quiet and well-mannered.
She'd been filthy before, her face caked with grime. It wasn't until after her bath and a change of clothes that I actually saw what she looked like.
Delicate features, striking bone structure. The kind of face that would turn heads anywhere.
But she was painfully thin, all sharp angles, like a branch about to snap.
So I ordered her a full meal to put some food in her.
That was when Melanie wheeled Boyd back in. The second she saw Sylvia sitting on the couch eating, her expression froze over.
"Valentine Gilbert!"
"What is this? Bad enough you didn't get rid of her, but now she's wearing my pajamas? That's disgusting. Do you have any idea how unsanitary that is?"
Her reaction was explosive, like a cat whose tail had been stomped on.
"I'm sorry, I'll take them off right now."
Sylvia shot to her feet, panic written across her face. "Please don't fight because of me."
"Don't."
I caught her wrist and kept my eyes forward. "It's a set of pajamas. What's the screaming about? I'll return them tomorrow. I'll buy Sylvia her own."
I still remembered when Boyd first moved in and took a liking to my only custom-tailored suit, one I reserved for important events.
Melanie didn't bother asking me. She put it on Boyd herself. Then Boyd soiled it.
I was furious.
Melanie couldn't have cared less. "God, you're cheap! It's just clothes. Boyd didn't do it on purpose. Wash it yourself and get over it."
The next day, she went out and bought Boyd five custom suits without blinking.
I was so angry my vision blurred.
"Melanie, don't blame Valentine. It's my fault for overstaying my welcome. He's upset, so he hired some actress to get under your skin." Boyd's voice was thick with guilt.
"I'm nothing but a burden. I'll move out tonight. You two shouldn't be fighting over me."
His eyes rimmed red, and the moment he finished speaking, he steered his wheelchair toward the door.
I glanced at Melanie.
I wanted to see exactly how she'd react.
No surprises there.
Just like every other time, Melanie rushed over and threw her arms around Boyd, murmuring softly, "Boyd, you've never been a burden. You're one of the most important people in my life."
