Chapter 6

The urgent care doctor was young, his eyes sympathetic as he gently cleaned the cuts on Sarah's swollen cheek. "This looks like a significant impact," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "The police should probably be notified."

Sarah shook her head. "No police. It was... an accident."

He didn't look convinced but didn't press. He prescribed pain medication and told her to watch for signs of concussion.

Looking at her reflection in the clinic's sterile bathroom mirror was a shock. Her cheek was a grotesque landscape of purple and yellow bruises, a deep gash stitched near her eye. Her cast felt heavy, a symbol of her trapped state.

As she was leaving, a commotion near the entrance caught her attention.

Two older people, a man and a woman, were hurrying towards her, their faces etched with anxiety. She vaguely recognized them.

"Mrs. Hayes?" the woman said, her voice trembling. "We're Tiffany's parents. Brenda and Tom Vance."

Sarah stared at them, wary.

"Please, Mrs. Hayes," Tom Vance pleaded, his eyes darting around nervously. "We just want what's best for our Tiffany. She... she really loves Ethan. And he loves her. If you would just... step aside. Let them be happy. It would be better for everyone."

Sarah felt a surge of weary annoyance. These people were as opportunistic as their daughter.

Before she could formulate a reply, Tom Vance suddenly lurched forward. He stumbled, his arms flailing, and threw himself directly into the path of Sarah's car, which she had just unlocked and was about to enter. The car was stationary, but he hit the fender with a theatrical grunt and collapsed onto the pavement, clutching his leg.

"Aaargh! My leg! You hit me!" he groaned, his face contorted in a display of agony Sarah knew was utterly false.

Tiffany appeared as if from nowhere, rushing to her father's side, Snowball yapping in her arms. "Dad! Oh my god, Dad! What did she do to you?" She glared at Sarah, her eyes blazing.

Sarah sighed. This was a setup, plain and simple. But with witnesses starting to gather, she had little choice. "Get in," she told Tiffany, gesturing to her car. "I'll take him to the emergency room."

The emergency room was chaotic. Tiffany flitted around her father, cooing and fussing, while Tom Vance put on a brave show of suffering for the nurses.

Just as a doctor finally came to examine him, Tiffany, spotting Sarah standing quietly by the door, stormed over.

"You did this!" she shrieked, her face flushed. And then, without warning, she slapped Sarah hard across her already injured cheek.

Pain, sharp and blinding, shot through Sarah's head. The new stitches pulled, and she felt a fresh trickle of blood.

"Tiffany, stop!" Ethan's voice boomed from the ER entrance. He strode in, his expression thunderous. He took in the scene – Tiffany furious, Sarah clutching her bleeding face, Tom Vance groaning on the gurney.

He didn't ask what happened. He didn't need to. His bias was absolute.

"You just can't help yourself, can you, Sarah?" he snarled, his eyes filled with contempt. "Always causing trouble. Always hurting people. You're malicious. Truly."

Just then, a nurse rushed out from Tom Vance's cubicle. "Doctor, Mr. Vance is losing a lot of blood internally from the impact! We need O-negative, stat! We're running low!"

Tiffany gasped. "O-negative? That's... that's my dad's blood type! It's rare!"

Ethan looked at Sarah. A strange, calculating glint appeared in his eyes. "Sarah. What's your blood type?"

Sarah's blood ran cold. She knew. "O-negative," she whispered.

"Perfect," Ethan said, a grim smile touching his lips. "You caused this problem. You can help fix it."

"No," Sarah said, backing away. "I won't."

"You will," Ethan said, his voice dangerously soft. He grabbed her good arm. "Or I'll make you." He signaled to two of his burly security guards who had materialized behind him.

They dragged her, protesting, to a donation room. A terrified-looking phlebotomist, clearly intimidated by Ethan's presence, prepped her arm.

Sarah closed her eyes as the needle slid in. She felt her blood, her life force, draining away, given to the father of the woman who was destroying her life, all at the command of the man who had sworn to protect her.

She remembered a time, early in their marriage, when Ethan had a severe flu. She'd nursed him devotedly, spooning broth into his mouth, stroking his feverish brow. He'd looked up at her, his eyes full of gratitude, and whispered, "You're my angel, Sarah. My lifesaver."

The contrast was a fresh wave of agony.

The room started to spin. The phlebotomist's voice sounded far away.

Then, darkness. She fainted, slumping against the chair, as the bag beside her slowly filled with her blood.