Chapter 2

I got to the hospital.

Dad and my grandparents were in the waiting room, their faces etched with worry.

My grandmother rushed to me. "Lily, what happened? Why didn't you call us sooner?"

"I told Mom, I didn't see it well," I repeated, feeling their eyes on me.

Dad was pacing, his phone pressed to his ear. "Eleanor, you need to come back. Now. It' s serious."

He listened, his face growing tighter. "What do you mean, you can't? What commitments?"

He hung up, looking defeated. "She says she has unavoidable commitments. She' s with Chloe."

"Commitments?" Grandpa scoffed. "Her son is in critical condition!"

I knew those "commitments." Chloe' s spa day, a fancy dinner.

I suggested, "Maybe there's another neurosurgeon? Someone else who can help?"

A nurse overheard me. "Dr. Vance is the best, the only one in the region qualified for this specific type of trauma. If anyone can save him, it's her."

The words hung in the air, heavy and damning.

Dad redialed Mom' s number, his hand shaking.

"Eleanor, please," he begged. "The doctors here say you' re the only one."

Silence. Then, "What? What do you mean Lily is exaggerating? I' m telling you, Eleanor, it' s critical!"

His voice cracked. "She' s on her way to a... a wine tasting. With Chloe. She said Lily is just being dramatic because she' s jealous of their trip."

Grandma gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

I felt nothing, just a cold, hard knot in my stomach. It was all replaying.

A doctor came out, his face grim.

"Mr. Carter, Sam' s condition is deteriorating rapidly. We need to relieve the pressure on his brain immediately. His best chance is with Dr. Vance. Is she on her way?"

Dad looked utterly broken. "I... I don' t know. I can' t get her to understand."

He tried calling again. This time, it went straight to voicemail.

He slumped into a chair, his head in his hands. "She' s not picking up."

Grandpa tried. Voicemail.

Grandma tried. Voicemail.

"She turned her phone off," Grandma whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Then Dad' s phone buzzed. A text from Mom.

He read it aloud, his voice hollow. "'Mark, stop panicking. Chloe found this amazing little boutique, and we're just about to have lunch at Auberge. Don't let Lily spoil this for us. Sam probably just has a concussion. He's a tough kid.'"

A photo was attached. Mom and Chloe, smiling, clinking wine glasses, shopping bags at their feet.

Chloe was wearing a new silk scarf, the price tag still faintly visible.

"Auberge..." Dad choked out. "That' s one of the most expensive restaurants in Napa."

The casual cruelty of it, the blatant disregard, it was breathtaking.

Even knowing it was coming, seeing it unfold again, a cold fury settled in me.