Chapter 3

The moment Mark and Brittany' s car pulled away, my mother clutched her chest. Her face went pale, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Mom!" I screamed, catching her as her knees buckled.

She collapsed against me, her eyes wide with pain and shock. "My... my pills," she wheezed, pointing toward her purse on the entryway table.

Panic seized me. I lowered her gently to the floor and scrambled for her purse, my hands shaking so badly I could barely open the clasp. I found the small bottle of nitroglycerin, but it was empty. She must have forgotten to refill it.

"Okay, Mom, just breathe. I'm calling an ambulance," I said, my voice trembling as I fumbled for my phone.

I dialed 911, my heart pounding against my ribs. While I waited for them to pick up, I called Mark. I needed him. Despite everything, a desperate, foolish part of me thought he would come back. He had always been fond of my mother.

He answered on the second ring, his voice impatient. "What is it now, Chloe? I'm busy."

"It's Mom!" I cried, tears finally streaming down my face. "She's having a heart attack! You need to come back!"

There was a pause. "A heart attack? Are you serious?"

"Yes! Mark, please, she's not breathing right! I'm scared!"

I could hear Brittany' s voice in the background, whining. "Mark, my stomach hurts... Don't listen to her. She's just trying to get you to come back."

I remembered all the times Mark had sworn to me that he would always take care of my mother as if she were his own. He' d held her hand after her first heart scare five years ago and promised he would always be there. Another lie. All of it was a lie.

My mother was the only person in this whole mess who had ever truly loved me, who had ever been on my side without question. And now I was losing her.

A cold rage replaced my panic. "Mark Peterson, if you don't turn this car around right now, I swear to God..."

"Don't you threaten me!" he snarled. "You're probably making this up! You're just jealous of Brittany and the baby! You're trying to ruin this for us, just like you ruin everything!"

"She can't breathe, you monster!" I screamed into the phone.

"Brittany is pregnant! She's my priority now. You and your mother can deal with your own drama."

The line went dead.

He hung up on me. He chose them. He left my mother to die on the floor.

The 911 operator was telling me an ambulance was on its way, but it was caught in traffic. It could be fifteen, twenty minutes. We didn't have that long.

I made a decision. I couldn't wait. I grabbed my car keys, the ones to my practical sedan, not the broken-down monument to his lies. With strength I didn't know I possessed, I helped my mother to her feet and half-carried, half-dragged her out to the car.

"It's okay, Mom," I whispered, settling her into the passenger seat. "I've got you. I'll get you there."

I drove like a madwoman, honking the horn, weaving through traffic, my hands slick with sweat on the steering wheel. We finally screeched to a halt in front of the emergency room entrance. I ran inside, screaming for help.

"My mother is having a heart attack! I need a doctor!"

Nurses and a doctor rushed out with a gurney. They were working on her, getting her inside, when I saw them.

Mark and Brittany were standing right there, by the main desk of the ER. Brittany was sitting in a wheelchair, looking perfectly fine, while Mark was talking animatedly with a doctor. They had taken the best cardiac specialist in the hospital, the one Mom was supposed to see, and were using him for Brittany' s fake stomach ache.

"What are you doing?" I shrieked, my voice raw. "My mother is dying, and you're here with a specialist for a stomach ache?"

I tried to push past them, to get to the doctor attending to my mom, but Mark grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin.

"Stop it, Chloe!" he hissed, his face dark with rage. "You are making a scene! Dr. Evans is consulting on Brittany's condition. It's a high-risk pregnancy!"

"She's not pregnant! She's lying!" I yelled, trying to pull free. "Let go of me! My mother needs help!"

He wouldn't let go. He blocked my path, a human wall between my mother and the help she desperately needed.

"You are a vicious, evil woman," he said, his voice low and menacing. "You can't stand to see anyone else happy. You're trying to harm my child before it's even born."

The accusation was so vile, so completely twisted, it stole the air from my lungs. The man I had loved for a decade was standing in front of me, letting my mother die while he protected my manipulative sister and a non-existent baby.