My hand paused mid-air before I steadied myself. Calmly, I extended the medical report toward him.
"I need to tell you something." My voice held nothing. "Our son is sick. It's serious. Acute lymphoblastic leukemia."
I watched the color drain from his face.
"If we don't find a matching bone marrow donor immediately... he won't make it."
Justin stood frozen. His hands trembled as he took the thin sheets of paper, eyes scanning the diagnosis with growing horror.
"I'll make the calls," he stammered, voice thick. "I'll use every connection I have. We will find a match. Soon."
A breath I didn't know I was holding escaped my lips. I nodded. "Good. I'm going to put Carter to bed."
He moved to follow me, his instinct clearly to comfort his son, but Brooklyn was faster. Her hand darted out, pinching Tommy's arm where it was hidden from Justin's view.
"Ow!" Tommy shrieked, tears instantly welling. "I can't sleep! I need Uncle Justin to tell me a story! I can't sleep without him!"
Brooklyn launched into her performance immediately—a sigh, a mask of weary martyrdom. "Tommy, stop it. We're just guests here. We can't keep bothering your Uncle Justin with every little thing."
Justin halted, torn between the bedroom where his dying son lay and the crying nephew in the living room. Seeing his hesitation, I offered a faint, hollow smile.
"Go ahead. Don't keep the child waiting."
Unexpectedly, his expression darkened.
"Enough," Justin barked. "Tommy's in elementary school now. He needs to learn independence."
The smug smile on Brooklyn's face faltered. Her eyes narrowed, shooting a venomous glare my way before she dissolved into practiced tears. She scooped up her son, turning toward her room with dramatic flair.
"You're right. Who told Tommy he has no father? Who told him to cling to someone else's family, making everyone hate him?" She sobbed loudly. "I'll pack our bags right now. We'll leave tonight..."
Annoyance flashed through Justin's eyes, quickly replaced by panic. "Nonsense! It's the middle of the night. Where would you go?"
He took a step toward her, then stopped, glancing back at me with guilt written all over his features.
I maintained my smile. It didn't reach my eyes. "Go. She's your brother's widow. It's only right you look after them."
Relief washed over him. "Okay. I'll just get him settled. Wait for me—I'll come read to Carter once Tommy's asleep."
He never came.
Long after I had coaxed Carter to sleep, the guest room door creaked open. Brooklyn leaned against the frame, looking at me with provocative triumph. She tugged her silk pajama collar down just enough to reveal fresh, ambiguous red marks on her neck.
"Sorry, Ava." She purred. "Justin fell asleep in my room."
I smiled. No surprise flickered in my gaze. "Okay."
A scene I'd witnessed enough times to become immune to.
Early the next morning, Justin emerged from the guest bedroom. Dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes.
Brooklyn stood on her tiptoes, fussing over him as she straightened his collar. "You worked so hard last night, Justin."
The double meaning hung heavy. In the past, those words would have ignited a screaming match. I would have demanded explanations.
Now, Justin glanced at me, panic flaring as he opened his mouth to explain.
I cut him off with a light laugh. "Eat breakfast. We have to visit the grave soon."
Two weeks ago, we had agreed to visit my mother's grave today. When she was alive, she had doted on Justin, treating him like her own flesh and blood. Every year, I brought him along to pay respects.
He went to the factory specifically to swap cars, bringing back the largest SUV for the trip.
As we approached the vehicle, Brooklyn moved with practiced speed, sliding into the front passenger seat before I could reach the door.
Justin looked at me, an apologetic grimace on his face. "Ava... she's suffered a lot and doesn't know the rules. She gets carsick. Don't hold it against her."
I shook my head, opening the rear door. "It's just a seat. Not important."
Just like him. In my heart, Justin had long ceased to be important.
After dropping Carter and Tommy at school, Justin drove us toward the cemetery. The silence was suffocating.
Just as the cemetery gates came into view, Brooklyn gasped. She clutched her chest, face contorting.
"It hurts..." she whimpered. "My chest..."
Justin slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt on the shoulder. "What is it? Can you hold on?"
Tears spilled from Brooklyn's eyes. She bit her lip, trembling as if fighting a great battle. "I... I can try."
Justin's focus was absolute, his worried gaze glued to her, oblivious to everything else.
I didn't wait for him to decide. I opened the door and stepped out onto the roadside.
"Take her to the hospital. I can walk the rest of the way."
The car idled for a moment—a brief hesitation from the man behind the wheel.
Then the engine roared. He whipped the car into a U-turn and sped away, leaving me standing alone in the dust.
