Chapter 3

The emergency room of St. Mary's Hospital was a place I knew with a chilling familiarity. The sterile smell, the harsh fluorescent lights, the hushed, anxious whispers of families waiting for news. It was all exactly as I remembered it from my death.

I walked through the automatic doors and saw them immediately. My entire family, clustered together in the waiting area, their faces pale and strained.

My father, Robert, was pacing back and forth, running a hand through his hair. My grandparents, Robert's parents, were sitting on the uncomfortable plastic chairs. Grandma Miller was crying softly into a tissue, while Grandpa Miller stared blankly at the wall, his jaw tight.

Even my mother's parents, my maternal grandparents, were there. They stood a little apart, looking lost and worried.

They all looked up as I approached. The moment my father saw me, his expression shifted from worry to a flicker of anger.

"Chloe! Where have you been? Your phone was off, we were so worried!"

Before I could answer, Grandma Miller stood up, her eyes red and swollen.

"You have the nerve to show up now?" she said, her voice trembling with accusation. "You were with him! Why did you leave him? Where did you go?"

The questions hit me like physical blows, the same ones they had thrown at me in my past life. The blame was already settling on my shoulders, a heavy, familiar weight.

My father put a hand on his mother's arm. "Mom, not now. We don't know what happened."

"What is there not to know?" Grandpa Miller chimed in, his voice gruff. "She was there. She should have been with her brother."

My maternal grandparents looked at me with pity, but said nothing. They always followed Olivia's lead, and without her here, they were adrift.

I stood there, the target of their grief and confusion. A part of me, the old Chloe, wanted to scream, to defend myself, to tell them the whole insane truth. But the new Chloe, the one who had died on a marble floor, stayed silent.

What was the point? They had already judged me. They needed someone to blame, and I was the easiest choice.

"I... I was scared," I finally mumbled, a small, weak excuse. It was what they expected to hear from a cowardly sister. It fit their narrative.

"Scared?" Grandma Miller scoffed. "Your brother was bleeding on the floor, and you were scared?"

I just looked down at my shoes, letting her words wash over me. In my past life, this would have shattered me. Now, it just felt... predictable. I knew my role in this family. I was the problem. The disappointment. The one who was always in the wrong.

I saw Ashley then. She was sitting next to my grandmother, holding her hand, tears streaming down her perfect face. She looked up at me, her eyes full of faux sympathy.

"Chloe," she whispered, her voice choked with tears. "I'm so glad you're okay. We were all so worried."

She was so good at it. The perfect, caring sister. She was already cementing her position as the good daughter, while I was being cast as the villain.

Right on cue.

The doors to the operating wing swung open, and a doctor in blue scrubs walked out, his expression grim.

Everyone surged forward.

"How is he?" my father asked, his voice cracking.

"He's in critical condition," the doctor said, his voice low and serious. "The bullet is lodged near a major artery in his chest. It's an extremely delicate and high-risk surgery. We've managed to stabilize him for now, but we need the best. We need a top neurovascular surgeon to lead the team."

He paused, looking around at the family. "We've been trying to reach Dr. Miller. She's the best there is. Is she on her way?"

A heavy silence fell over the group. Everyone knew my mother was the head of neurosurgery at this very hospital. Her absence was a gaping hole in the middle of our family's crisis.

My father looked flustered. "She's... she's busy. We haven't been able to get ahold of her."

This was my moment. This was the first domino.

I stepped forward, my voice deliberately small and hesitant.

"I can try calling her," I said, looking up at my father. "Maybe she'll pick up for me."

Before he could object, I added, "I'll go call Mom. She has to come."

I turned and walked away towards a quieter corner of the waiting room, pulling out my phone. I knew she wouldn't come. But this time, everyone else was going to have a front-row seat to watch her refuse.