“What if my parents come?”
“They won’t get near you.”
“What if Melanie runs?”
“She won’t get far.”
His confidence should have comforted me.
Instead, fear pressed harder against my ribs.
Because Melanie had always been underestimated.
She smiled beautifully, dressed carefully, and cried whenever someone confronted her.
Growing up, she could break a lamp and convince my parents I had done it.
She once stole money from my purse, then accused me of being jealous when I found it in her room.
She didn’t lie like an amateur.
She lied until the truth felt cruel.
As they wheeled me toward surgery, I caught Wyatt’s sleeve.
“Don’t believe anything she says.”
“I won’t.”
“She’ll make herself the victim.”
“Not this time.”
The operating room doors opened.
The last thing I saw was Wyatt standing beneath the fluorescent lights, covered in my blood and looking ready to burn the world down for me.
