Chapter 8

Eleanore POV:

A distant hum, then a sharper, more insistent throb, dragged me back from the welcoming darkness. My body screamed. Every inch felt like a battlefield. My head throbbed in time with my heart. I was back in the hospital. The same sterile smell. The same empty room. They left me again.

Footsteps. My parents, Colbert, and Addison burst in, their faces etched with a familiar mixture of concern and irritation. "Eleanore! Thank goodness you're awake!" my mother cried, rushing to my bedside. She grabbed my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle. My father stood stiffly, his brows furrowed. Colbert looked tired. Addison avoided my gaze.

"How are you feeling, darling? The doctor said you're lucky, so lucky. A few broken ribs, a fractured arm, another concussion. But you'll recover." My mother's voice was soft, almost sincere. She dabbed at my forehead with a cool cloth. "Does anything hurt? Tell us how to make it better."

I lay there, my body screaming, my heart numb. I knew their game. They weren't concerned about me. They were concerned about the optics. Another accident, another scandal. Another reason to feel guilty, which they would quickly transfer into overcompensation for Josie.

"That girl... Josie... she' s just so sensitive, Eleanore. She' s heartbroken about this accident," my mother murmured, her voice laced with subtle blame. "She feels so guilty, even though it wasn't her fault. You just ran out into the street, darling. You must be more careful."

My father cleared his throat. "Yes, Eleanore. Josie is utterly distraught. She blames herself for not getting help fast enough. But we keep telling her it was an accident, pure and simple."

Tears streamed down my face, not from the physical agony, but from the crushing weight of their delusion. They refused to see. They refused to acknowledge the truth. I remembered my father teaching me to ride a bike, my mother braiding my hair, Colbert reading me bedtime stories. Addison promising me forever. Those were echoes of a life that no longer existed. It was all gone. Replaced.

My mother made a soft, comforting sound. "There, there, darling. Everything will be alright." She stroked my arm.

Just then, a nurse peeked in. "Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Spence? Josie just woke up. She's quite agitated. She keeps asking for you."

My mother's head snapped up. My father's face contorted with immediate concern. "Josie? Oh, dear. We must go to her." My mother pulled her hand away from mine. "We'll be right back, Eleanore, darling. We just need to calm Josie down."

They rushed out, Colbert and Addison trailing behind them, leaving me alone in the silent, sterile room. Again. The tears flowed freely now, hot and silent, until exhaustion pulled me under.

I woke hours later. The room was still empty. My phone buzzed. A message from Josie. A smiling selfie of her, my parents, Colbert, and Addison crowded around her hospital bed, all looking concerned. Feeling much better now that my family is here. Mom and Dad say you' re recovering well, and they' re so relieved it wasn' t my fault. You know, you really gave me a scare!

The final thread snapped. I looked at the ceiling, my chest hollow. No amount of pain, no amount of suffering, would ever make them choose me. This was it. The absolute, unchangeable truth.

I ripped the IV from my arm, ignoring the sharp sting, and discharged myself. The hospital staff, exasperated, let me go, handing me a wad of paperwork and a handful of pain pills.

I arrived back at the mansion in the dead of night. It was silent, dark. Josie and my family were still at the hospital, I assumed. I walked straight to my parents' room. On their antique dresser, I placed the carefully worded letter: a formal declaration of my severance from the Spence family, legally binding, meticulously detailing my refusal of any inheritance or claim to their name.

Then, I went to the garden. The one my mother had planted for me when I was a little girl, filled with my favorite white roses. Now, it was a symbol of their neglect. With a shovel, I systematically uprooted every single rose bush, every flower, until the earth was bare and scarred. I left the heirloom necklace Josie had worn on the now barren patch of dirt.

As the first hint of dawn painted the sky, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. Kayson Knight's family butler, a kind, elderly man, stepped out. He simply nodded, his eyes holding a silent understanding.

I got into the car. No farewells. No looking back. My phone buzzed incessantly in my purse, but I silenced it, then blocked every single one of their numbers. As the car pulled away, I glanced back at the mansion, a tomb of my youth. "Goodbye," I whispered, the word tasting like ash. "May you reap what you have sown."