My phone landed nearby with a crack, its screen shattering.
A wave of bitterness flooded through me, stinging my throat.
I struggled to hold back the tears, my voice steady despite the hurt. "I didn’t push her."
But Charles simply stared, disbelief etched across his face.
I locked eyes with him for a moment, my fists clenched tight, but the frustration and grief I’d buried deep inside surged to the surface.
Tears flowed down my cheeks in a relentless stream as though the floodgates of my heart had finally given way.
I cried with such intensity, my breath coming in jagged gasps, that I could scarcely find air.
Charles froze for a moment, his face shifting as a flicker of guilt crossed his features.
Tentatively, he reached out, his voice laced with uncertainty. "I’m sorry, Isabella, I..."
But before he could finish, Dorothea suddenly appeared in front of me, throwing herself to the ground. She knelt there, her head bowed and her sobs rising in a frenzied rhythm.
"I’m sorry, Sister Isabella! It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have intruded on your time with my brother!"
"I’m sorry! I swear I won’t show up in front of you again! Please, don’t be angry anymore!"
Charles stood frozen for a moment, his gaze snapping to the bloody scrape on Dorothea’s leg. His face shifted to one of alarm as he quickly pulled her up.
He pointed at the wound, his voice full of fury. "Did you do this?!"
"Do you have any idea what this means? Dorothea’s legs are her life! One injury could ruin her balance!"
Watching him defend her like that, my chest tightened, and a bitter laugh slipped from my lips.
Sarcasm dripped from my words as I sneered, "Yes, it was me. I just can't stand her clinging to you. I wanted to ruin her! So what..."
But before I could finish, the sharp sting of a slap cut through the air.
The burn on my cheek was instant, the heat spreading quickly as my skin swelled beneath the impact. It wasn’t until the cold wind hit the wound, sending a violent shiver through me, that it truly hit me.
Charles had struck me.
The same Charles who, for seven long years, wouldn’t let me lift a finger in the kitchen or wash a single dish. The same one who had insisted on warming my feet before he’d even sleep in the coldest winters had slapped me, all for another woman.
Charles stood frozen, staring blankly at his own hand as if in disbelief at what he had just done.