Florence loomed above me, his tone cutting like steel. “You’ve got to stop treating Carolyn like she’s some sort of exile, Aimee. She’s your sister.”
My eyes widened. The nerve. My sister? The same girl who had slithered her way into every part of my life, dismantling everything that once brought me joy. And now he expected me to be gentle with her?
A dry, humorless laugh escaped me. “I’m the one isolating her?” I asked, my voice trembling, barely keeping the storm inside at bay. “Are you actually listening to yourself, Florence? I’m the one who’s constantly being pushed aside. Every time there’s trouble, you don’t even glance in my direction. You go running to her.”
His shoulders tensed, jaw clenched. But I wasn’t finished—not even close.
“You always leave me behind,” I continued, louder now, each word a blow. “You guard her like she’s yours to protect. Like she’s more than family to you. So tell me, Florence—what is she to you?”
Florence’s eyes flicked toward Carolyn, who stood quietly by the doorway, wearing the tattered remnants of our mother’s dress like it was her own. His momentary pause was more telling than any confession. For one breathless second, I thought he might finally come clean.
But he didn’t.
He turned back, face set in stone. “She’s like a sister to me. That’s all. I don’t know what kind of insane fantasy you’ve let take over, but you sound paranoid. Delusional, even.”
My heart twisted. He was lying. I knew it. I felt it deep in my chest, like a pulse that wouldn't go away. And before I could answer, Carolyn stepped closer, her voice laced with false concern.
“You’re reading too much into things, Aimee,” she said sweetly. “Florence and I are just… close. Nothing more.”
Their deception came so effortlessly, so smoothly, it made me sick. How could they lie like that? How could they pretend nothing had happened—when everything had?
Blinking back tears, I turned to Carolyn and forced a smile that tasted like ashes. “Well, since you’ve got the dress now… happy early birthday.”
The slight flinch in her eyes was satisfying, but I didn’t wait to see her react. I walked past them, chin high, each step fueled by fury and heartbreak.
The cold air outside struck my face as I stepped into the garden. I sucked in a breath, trying to still the chaos in my chest. The night was still, broken only by the wind rustling the leaves. In that moment, I imagined disappearing—leaving all of this betrayal behind me.
“Aimee?”
I turned to find Seth approaching, his expression calmer than I’d seen in ages. The fire from earlier had cooled, replaced by something quieter. Concern.
“You alright?” he asked, stopping just short of me.
I shook my head slowly. “No. Not even close.”
He moved closer, one hand gently resting on my shoulder. “What happened?”
I looked at him—really looked at him—and for the first time in days, something inside me eased. Seth, in his own flawed way, had always looked out for me. Maybe he was the only one who ever truly had.
“I need your help,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
His brow furrowed. “With what?”
I took a breath that shook on the way out. “I need you to pretend you’re the father of my baby.”
He froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. “What?”
“You heard me,” I said, stronger now. “I can’t let Florence find out. If he knows, he’ll use the baby against me. I can’t let that happen.”
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth. “Aimee… that’s a huge ask. Do you realize what people will assume?”
“Let them,” I snapped. “Let them whisper. Let them believe whatever they want. We both know the truth—and we both know who the real liars are.”
He stopped and turned toward me, something softening in his eyes. He looked like he was still weighing it all, but there was a flicker of understanding behind the conflict.
“You’re really serious,” he murmured.
“I am,” I said, voice cracking. “I have to protect this child. Please, Seth.”
There was a long pause as he studied me. Then, finally, he nodded. “Alright. I’ll do it. But we need to figure out the details. Carefully.”
Relief hit me so hard it made me sway. I gave him a faint, trembling smile. “Thank you.”
That night, I returned to my room, mind buzzing with the plan we’d pieced together. It was messy, fragile, but it was a beginning.
But the moment I pushed the door open, my breath caught in my throat.
Florence sat on the edge of the bed, his back slightly hunched. In his hand was the thing I’d prayed he wouldn’t find. The pregnancy test.
He looked up slowly, his gaze unreadable, sharp.
“Are you pregnant?” he asked, voice low. “Is it mine?”
The air grew thick, suffocating, as my pulse raced in my ears. This was it—the point of no return.
I stood tall, locked eyes with him. “Yes. I’m pregnant.”
His expression barely changed, but I caught the flicker in his eyes. I didn’t let him speak.
“But it’s not yours,” I added firmly.
The silence that followed felt like an explosion in slow motion.
“It’s Seth’s,” I lied, each syllable stabbing me from the inside.
Florence’s mask cracked. His eyes darkened with shock, confusion, something raw.
And in that moment, for the first time, I had control. For the first time, he didn’t know what to say.
And it felt like power.
