I fell asleep crying in the dark. The basement smelled of damp wood and dust, the kind of place where time didn’t exist, where I was nothing more than the shadow they wanted me to be.
When I woke up, someone was shaking me gently.
“Candice… sister, wake up.”
Beatrice.
Her face hovered above me, her voice dripping with false concern. “Are you okay? I’m sorry they put you here. I should have told them to let you out. But… why would you do that to Coreen? Now she hates you.”
I blinked at her, still disoriented, but the sharpness of her words cut through the fog. Coreen hates you.
Of course. This was Beatrice’s way—sweet on the outside, poison underneath.
I rolled my eyes, unable to stop myself. After all, hadn’t I known this game for years?
When my mother died, I was still young. Father remarried quickly, desperate for comfort, and with his new wife came Beatrice. At first, we were close. We shared toys, secrets, and laughter. I even believed she loved me like a real sister.
But then… things changed. Slowly, quietly, like a knife pressed against the skin without cutting. She began planting little seeds of doubt in Father’s mind, whispering lies, twisting truths. And little by little, he started turning his eyes away from me—toward her.
Beatrice was clever. Polished. Smarter, prettier, always better. While I swallowed my hurt, she shined. And when I married Oliver, I thought she was happy. Little did I know, she was stealing him from me. I was even happy because the two people I cared for were close.
For years, I told myself to be understanding. To forgive. To keep peace. But now… now I was so tired I couldn’t even muster words for her fake sympathy.
So I ignored her. I turned my face away.
Beatrice’s lips trembled—then she dropped into a sob, loud and exaggerated, the kind that could rattle walls. “Sister, please! Don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry, okay? I should have defended you from them. I just want us to be okay!”
Her crocodile tears spilled as she collapsed beside me, wailing.
The basement door creaked open. Oliver’s voice thundered. “What’s happening?”
Beatrice clutched her arm, trembling with feigned fear. “She—she pushed me! She’s mad at me, Oliver!”
My chest tightened. I wanted to scream Liar! but my lungs refused to cooperate. My head spun, my knees wavered. I couldn’t breathe.
So instead of fighting, I walked past them both. Step after step, desperate to leave the suffocating air. But before I reached the door, the world tilted—and darkness swallowed me whole.
When sound returned, it came in fragments.
“She needs blood,” a voice said.
“None available in the bank,” another replied.
I recognized Oliver’s sharp tone, irritated, impatient. “Then wait until there’s some.”
“Sir, her blood count is dropping. If we wait too long—”
“Let her. Maybe it’s better this way. She’s been nothing but a burden. This would be a natural death if ever.”
I wanted to scream. To ask him How could you? But my body was too weak, trapped in sleep.
“I can donate.” Beatrice’s voice. Hesitant, trembling.
“No. You’re anemic. You’ll faint at a needle prick. Forget it.” Oliver’s answer was cold, final.
And then silence.
When I woke up fully, I was in a hospital bed, an IV dripping beside me. A nurse smiled softly. “Mrs. Smith, you’re awake. Please, don’t move too much. You need rest. You had dengue, and your blood count dropped dangerously low. You almost…”
Her voice trailed off. I didn’t need her to finish. I already knew.
I swallowed hard, my lips dry. “Who… donated blood? Did they find one? Was it Oliver?”
The nurse hesitated. Then she shook her head gently. “No. A stranger. He came right away. Paid for everything, too. Said he couldn’t just stand by.”
“A stranger?” My heart thumped strangely. “Do I… know him?”
She smiled faintly and handed me a slip of paper. “He left his number. He said you’d understand when you called.”
My hands trembled as I dialed. When the line clicked, a voice answered.
“Hello?”
Familiar. Too familiar.
“Who… are you? Why are you helping me?”
A pause. Then the voice replied softly, almost with a smile. “It’s James.”
My breath caught. James. My childhood best friend. The man who once stood by me when no one else did. The man I had rejected because my foolish heart chose Oliver.
I did everything for Oliver when someone could do a lot for me. I even invested in Oliver’s failing company, pushing him upward, and forgot about my career—only to be discarded, locked away in a house, invisible, when he finally thrived.
“James…” My chest ached with the weight of the name.
“How are you?” His tone was gentle, but underneath it, I heard pain. “I heard what happened. Do you want to come with me, then?”
“Come… with you?” My voice was a whisper, hesitant.
“Yes. Divorce him. Leave that life. Be with me.” His words were steady, resolute. “I swear, Candice, no one will hurt you again.”
Tears pricked my eyes. My heart trembled. Could I? After decades of servitude, humiliation, betrayal—could I take his hand now?
“Yes,” I whispered finally. “Yes… I want that. Pick me up in four days.”
“Four days,” he promised. “I’ll come. And I’ll never let you go again.”
When the call ended, I clutched the phone to my chest, tears streaming. For the first time in years, I felt… hope.
But in the days that followed, not once did Oliver or Jackson or even Beatrice visit me. Not a single flower, not a word, not even a glance.
When I was finally discharged, I returned home to find the house littered with remnants of a party—empty glasses, food crumbs, decorations drooping. They had celebrated while I was dying.
I stepped over the mess, heading toward my room, when a voice snapped.
“Where the hell are you going?” Jackson.
He stood in the doorway, his face hard. “Since you’re here, clean this up.”
I froze. “No. I’m tired.”
He scoffed. “So what?”
“I’m your mother.”
Jackson laughed bitterly. “Mother? Don’t make me laugh. You’re more of a maid than a mother. Now clean it.” He tossed a towel at me. “And don’t forget the laundry. Our clothes are piling up.”
The towel landed at my feet, heavy as my shame.
I bent down, picking it up slowly. My heart screamed, but my lips only whispered to myself, Just a few more days. And I’ll be gone.
