Chapter 3

Two days before my scheduled "trip" to my parents, the doorbell rang. Mark answered it, and I heard a woman's voice, high and saccharine.

"Mark, darling! I just couldn't wait any longer!"

I walked into the foyer and saw her. Sarah Miller. Mark's ex-wife, Kevin's mother. She was perfectly dressed, her blonde hair immaculate, her smile dripping with false sympathy as her eyes landed on me.

"Oh, Evelyn," she said, her voice full of pity. "You poor thing. I saw that horrible video. I just had to come and see how you were doing."

Mark put a hand on her arm. "Sarah, maybe this isn't a good time."

"Nonsense," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "We're all family here." She stepped past him and into the house as if she already owned it. Her eyes swept over the living room, a possessive gleam in them.

Kevin came bounding down the stairs. "Mom!" His face lit up in a way I had never seen. He ran to her, and she hugged him tightly.

"Oh, my sweet boy," she cooed. "I've missed you so much." She shot me a triumphant look over Kevin's shoulder.

Mark and Kevin played their parts, pretending to be a buffer between us. "Mom, be nice," Kevin said, but there was no force behind his words.

"Evelyn is very fragile right now," Mark added, looking at me with his fake worried expression.

Sarah ignored them both. She walked right up to me, her smile turning into a cruel sneer. "Fragile? She looks it. I have to say, Evelyn, for a doctor, you really didn't put up much of a fight. That part where you were begging them to stop? Truly pathetic."

Rage, hot and pure, surged through me. I clenched my fists at my sides, digging my nails into my palms. I refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

"It's time for you to leave, Sarah," I said, my voice low and steady.

She laughed. "Oh, I don't think so. I'm just getting comfortable." She ran a hand over a vase on the mantelpiece. "I always loved this piece. Mark bought it for me."

Later that day, I was in Mark's home office, looking for a pen. I opened a drawer and found a folder I didn't recognize. Inside were architectural plans. Blueprints for a renovation of our master bathroom. And a receipt from the designer. My blood ran cold when I saw the date on it. It was from two months before my assault. The plans were to expand the closet space and install a new vanity. A vanity with all of Sarah's favorite design elements.

He had been planning to bring her back long before he had me attacked. This was proof.

I confronted them that evening, holding the receipt in my hand. "What is this, Mark?"

He glanced at it and had the gall to look confused. "Oh, that. I was... planning a surprise for you. For our anniversary."

Kevin chimed in, "Yeah, Dad was going to redo the whole room for you. He wanted it to be perfect."

The lies were so clumsy, so insulting. "My anniversary isn't for six months," I said flatly. "And these aren't my tastes. They're Sarah's."

They just stared at me, their masks of innocence starting to crack.

The next day, Mark came to me with a folder. "Evelyn, I need you to sign something."

Inside was a document. A consent form. It was for a directed organ donation. My eyes scanned the details. Two children, a brother and sister, had been in a terrible accident. They both needed kidney transplants to survive. The donor was a brain-dead patient at my old hospital. The document just needed the signature of the next of kin to release the organs to these specific children.

"Why are you showing me this?" I asked, confused.

"The patient... the donor... it's one of the men who attacked you," Mark said calmly. "He was shot during a police raid last night. He's a match for both kids."

I stared at him, horrified.

"He doesn't have any family," Mark continued. "The hospital board is hesitant to proceed without some kind of formal approval. They've asked me, as the lead officer on your case, to find a solution. Technically, as the victim, you have a... vested interest. Your signature, as a gesture of forgiveness, would clear the way."

It felt wrong. Twisted.

"Just sign it, Evelyn," Kevin said from the doorway. He had been listening. "Who cares about that scumbag? But Sarah's cousin is a major donor to that hospital. If you sign this, and we present it as our family's compassionate gesture, it will look really good for Dad's career. And for Sarah's cousin, who wants to be on the hospital board."

They wanted to use this tragedy, these children's lives, as a tool for social climbing. To use my name, my pain, to benefit the woman they were replacing me with.

"They're just two random kids," Mark said, his voice hardening when he saw my hesitation. "And he's a monster who deserves to die. Sign the paper, Evelyn. It's a simple act that helps everyone."

I looked at the names of the children on the form. A boy, Leo. A girl, Maya. And then I looked at the attached photo of the donor, the man who had held the syringe. His face was a mask of violence in my memory.

But then I remembered something else. The day of the attack, at the clinic. Before the chaos. A man had come in with his two children. They had the flu. The kids were scared, and I had given them lollipops and made them laugh. The man had been grateful. He was a single father, trying his best. His name was Daniel. The man in the photo, the donor, was Daniel. The gang must have forced him, threatened his children. He wasn't a monster. He was a victim, just like me. And Leo and Maya were his children.

"No," I said, my voice ringing with a clarity that surprised even me. "I won't sign it."

I looked at Mark and Kevin, at their stunned, angry faces. "These aren't just two random kids. They're his children. You want me to sign away their father's organs, the only thing he has left to give them, for your own selfish gain?"

I threw the folder on the table. "You are not just evil," I said, my voice shaking with rage. "You are pathetic." For the first time, I saw a flicker of fear in Mark's eyes.

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