Chapter 3

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I knew it. I just knew it. Jessi. Something was terribly wrong. I needed to get to her. I needed to see her.

I stumbled out of the diner, the cool night air hitting my face, but doing nothing to clear the fog of panic. My old car was unreliable, miles away at my apartment. A taxi would take too long. My mind raced, desperate.

Just then, a sleek black sedan pulled up beside me. The window glided down, revealing Kane Daugherty' s grim face. "Get in, Kara. I'll take you."

My first instinct was to refuse, to lash out, to tell him to go to hell. But Jessi. Time was of the essence. I glanced at the back seat. Britt was there, clutching Cleveland, who looked sleepy and confused.

"I can't believe you're still here," I muttered, but I opened the door.

Before I could fully get in, Britt' s voice, sharp and laced with fear, cut through the night. "Don't touch me! Get away from me, Kara! She's crazy, Kane! She's always been crazy! She might try to hurt Cleveland!" She pulled Cleveland tighter, shielding him with her body.

My head snapped up. "Crazy? You want to talk about crazy, Britt? You think I'm going to hurt my son after everything I've done for him?" My voice was a low growl. "Let's talk about your past, shall we? The one Jessi spent years covering up? The one where you ran with a biker gang, got arrested multiple times, and had so many casual partners that Jessi had to pay off half the town to keep your reputation intact?"

Britt' s face went white. Her eyes darted to Kane, then back to me, a desperate fear flickering in them. "Kane, she's lying! She's just trying to upset me because of Jessi! She's always been jealous!"

I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "And let's not forget your little... 'condition.' The one Jessi was so worried about. The one you were so careful to hide. The one your ex-boyfriend warned me about before he disappeared."

"Stop it, Kara!" Kane roared, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. "What are you talking about? What condition?"

Britt, realizing she was losing control, started to sob, theatrical tears streaming down her face. "She's making it all up, Kane! She's just trying to hurt me because Jessi is dying! She knows how fragile I am! Oh, Kane, please, I can't listen to this! Let's just leave. I'll take Cleveland and go home. You can take Kara to the hospital. Just... protect me from her!" She buried her face in Cleveland's hair, her body shaking with feigned terror.

She was twisting the narrative again, making herself the victim, isolating me. Britt was good, I had to give her that.

Kane looked at Britt, his face a mixture of confusion and concern. "Britt, honey, calm down. She won't hurt you." But his eyes, when they met mine, held a deep, profound disappointment. "Kara, what are you doing? Are you trying to imply something disgusting about Britt? This is low, even for you."

In the rearview mirror, I saw Cleveland peek over Britt's shoulder. His small face was contorted in anger. He held up a bright red plastic truck, his tiny hand gripping it tightly. He wound up and, with a guttural cry, hurled it straight at my head.

The hard plastic hit my temple with a sickening thud. A sharp, blinding pain exploded behind my eyes. I cried out, clutching my head, the impact sending a jolt down my neck. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional agony of seeing my son, my own son, try to hurt me.

My vision blurred. A wave of nausea washed over me. My son. The memory of him, tiny and perfect, wrapped in a blue blanket, flashed through my mind. The hours of labor, the agonizing wait, the overwhelming rush of love when I first held him. His tiny fingers gripping mine, his soft coos, the sweet smell of baby powder. I had carried him for nine months, nurtured him, loved him with every fiber of my being. And now, he hated me. He wanted to hurt me. The cruel irony of it ripped through me, leaving me gasping for air.

Kane, in a sudden burst of anger, jammed on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt, throwing us all forward. "Cleveland!" he roared, turning to his son. He snatched the truck from Cleveland's hand, his face a mask of rage. "What is wrong with you? We do not throw toys! Ever!" With a swift, decisive movement, he rolled down the window and flung the toy into a nearby dumpster.

The silence that followed was deafening. I leaned my head against the cold glass of the window, tears silently tracing paths down my cheeks. In the reflection, I saw my own face, pale and drawn, a single tear glistening in the dim light. I hated that I cried. I hated that they saw my weakness.

My head throbbed, but my mind drifted back to Jessi. Her faded, weary face, her eyes filled with an unspoken apology. "I'm so sorry, Kara," she had whispered to me just a few weeks ago, her voice raspy. "I'm so sorry I couldn't give you a better life. I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused. If only I hadn't been so foolish, so naive, Britt wouldn't have grown up the way she did, and you... you wouldn't be burdened with all this."

I had exploded then, the years of suppressed frustration boiling over. "Burdened? Jessi, look at me! I'm drowning in debt! I lost everything! My career, my home, my son! All because you, in your infinite kindness, tried to protect her!" I had regretted the words the moment they left my lips.

Jessi had crumpled, her frail body shaking with sobs. "I know, I know," she had wept, her face buried in her hands. "I just wanted to do right by her. She was so angry, so lost. I thought... I thought I could fix her. I thought I could make her see the good in herself."

Her words had echoed in my mind for days. I had been so consumed by my own pain, my own resentment. But Jessi was right. She had tried. She had only ever wanted to do good. And Britt, with her twisted logic, had used that goodness, that love, against her. It wasn't Jessi's fault. It was never Jessi's fault. It was Britt. Always Britt.

The car jolted again, pulling into the bright, sterile entrance of St. Jude's Hospital. The familiar smell of antiseptic hit me, a grim reminder of my past life, a life where I had hoped to heal, not to be broken.

A nurse, a kind-faced woman with tired eyes, met us at the emergency room entrance. "Mrs. Marshall is asking for her daughter," she said softly, her gaze sweeping over me, then to Britt. "She's in Room 302. Visiting might help, even a little. It sometimes gives them a reason to fight."

My eyes locked onto Britt's. "She's asking for her daughter, Britt. Your mother. She wants to see you." My voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. I grabbed Britt's arm, pulling her towards the elevator. Kane, looking stunned, followed us.

"No! Let go of me, Kara! I don't want to see her! She's not my mother!" Britt shrieked, struggling against my grip.

I ignored her protests, dragging her into the elevator, Kane entering after us. "She's dying, Britt," I whispered, my voice raw with emotion. "You owe her this much. The woman who raised you, who gave you everything, is calling for you. Go to her."

I pushed her into the sterile white room. The air was thick with the scent of sickness and the soft beeping of machines. Jessi lay on the bed, her face pale and drawn, tubes protruding from her nose and arm. Her eyes, clouded with pain, fluttered open. She looked so small, so fragile.

I watched for a moment, then turned to leave, giving them what I thought was a private moment. As I stepped into the hallway, Kane placed a hand on my arm.

"Kara, wait," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "The hospital. I already took care of it. All of Jessi's bills. They're paid."

My head snapped up. "What? Why?" I stared at him, bewildered. His sudden generosity, after years of cold indifference, felt alien, suspicious. "What's the catch, Kane? What do you want?"

He looked hurt. "There's no catch, Kara. I just... I felt bad. Jessi was always kind to me. You asked me for help, and I didn't give it to you. I was wrong."

My brows furrowed. "I don't need your charity, Kane. I told you that five years ago. I can pay for Jessi's bills. Just... refund it. Refund the money." I had borrowed so much, taken on so much debt. His payment, though well-intentioned, felt like another form of control, another way to indebt me to him.

He shook his head. "No. Consider it... an apology. For everything. For the way things ended. For... for the university, for your education. I know I was wrong about that. I should have stood up for you."

A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. "Oh, now you're sorry, Kane? Now, after five years of watching me struggle, after letting your family strip me of everything, after you yourself rescinded my academic standing, the very thing you now claim to regret? You think a hospital bill absolves you?" My voice was colder than I thought possible. "Do you have any idea, Kane, how many jobs I lost because of your family's influence? How many doors were slammed in my face because the 'disgraced Daugherty ex-wife' was deemed unemployable? For five years, Kane. Five years. I couldn't get a proper job, not in my field, not anywhere respectable, because you, and your family, saw to it that I had no legitimate credentials. Are you finally going to stop obstructing my life?"

He opened his mouth to protest, but before he could speak, a piercing scream erupted from Jessi's room.

"She's dying! She's dying! Mommy Jessi, no!" Britt's voice, raw with panic, tore through the sterile silence of the hallway.

My blood ran cold. I pushed past Kane, running into the room. Jessi's eyes were wide, fixed on me, a desperate plea in their depths. Her arm, frail and thin, reached out.

"Kara," she rasped, her voice barely a whisper. "The debt... the loans... I know. Britt told me. She showed me the papers. All that money... for me. My poor girl. You'll never get out from under it." Tears streamed down her face, a mixture of pain and profound sorrow. "Don't... don't be like me, Kara. Don't let your life be wasted by others. Save yourself. I'm not worth it. I'm not worth this suffering."

Her words, heavy with despair, hung in the air. Britt stood frozen by the bed, her face a mask of shock, her eyes wide with a strange mix of terror and triumph.

Then, a high-pitched, insistent beeping began. The heart monitor. A flatline. The long, terrifying tone filled the room, sealing Jessi's fate.

Doctors and nurses rushed in, a flurry of hurried movements and urgent commands. "Code blue! We're losing her!"

I stood there, paralyzed, watching them work on Jessi. My Jessi. The only person who had truly loved me, unconditionally. The person I had sacrificed everything for. And now, she was gone.

The doctor, his face grim, finally shook his head. "I'm sorry. We did everything we could. Time of death: 9:47 PM."

Jessi was gone. And Britt, her biological daughter, had been there. And she had told Jessi about my crippling debt, about my desperate sacrifice, in her final moments. Why? What had Britt said or done to push my already fragile mother over the edge? A cold, terrifying thought began to form in my mind.