The relief on her face was immediate. And in that moment, I felt something familiar settle inside me—the old instinct to hold her up when everything else started to fall apart.
That afternoon, they took me to the hospital.
The room smelled like antiseptic and fading flowers. Dorothy lay in the bed, motionless, surrounded by machines that hummed softly like distant echoes of life. Her skin looked pale, almost translucent, and there was a faint yellow bruise near her temple.
Lauren handed me schedules, instructions, phone numbers. Ethan thanked me with a voice that was careful, controlled—too careful.
The next morning, I watched them leave in a taxi.
I thought they were just tired. Worn down by stress, by responsibility, by life.
I wanted to believe that.
The following morning, I sat beside Dorothy’s bed, whispering a quiet prayer under my breath. The kind of prayer you say not because you expect an answer—but because silence feels unbearable.
That’s when I heard it.
A faint sound.
A breath that wasn’t mechanical.
I looked up.
Her fingers moved.
At first, just slightly—like a tremor. Then again. Her eyelids fluttered, slowly, like they were too heavy to lift. And then, inch by inch, she opened her eyes.
My heart jumped so violently I thought I might faint.
I leaned forward immediately, reaching for the call button.
But before I could press it, her hand shot out and grabbed mine.
Her grip was weak—but desperate.
Her lips trembled as she spoke, her voice rough, barely there:
“Call the police… before they come back.”
Everything inside me went still.
“What are you saying?” I whispered. “Before who comes back?”
Her eyes—God, I’ll never forget her eyes. They were filled with a kind of fear that doesn’t fade. The kind that stays long after the danger is gone.
“They did this to me,” she said. “Ethan… and Lauren.”
I shook my head immediately.
“No… no, that’s not possible. You’re confused—”
“I didn’t fall,” she insisted, her grip tightening. “They gave me something. In my tea. I remember the taste… bitter. Then the stairs… I couldn’t move. They pushed me.”
I felt like the floor had disappeared beneath me.
“They want the house,” she continued. “The apartments. If they know I woke up… you’re next.”
I didn’t sleep that night.
Her words replayed over and over in my mind, each time sharper than before. I tried to reject them. To bury them. To explain them away.
But something inside me wouldn’t let go.