Chapter 3

I slammed the front door shut behind me, my heavy duffel bag sliding off my shoulder and hitting the floorboards with a thud. Three hours at the dance studio had burned the adrenaline out of my system, leaving a harsh, stinging ache in my calves. The mirrors and the music had offered a temporary escape from the suffocating toxicity of this house.

That reprieve died the second I stepped onto the foyer rug.

Before my combat boots even cleared the bottom step of the staircase, Mom’s voice drifted from the kitchen.

"Of course, sweetie. You need a better medical environment," Mom cooed. "The master guest room has terrible ventilation, but Chloe's bedroom has those large French windows. It’s perfect for your lungs. The attic can easily be converted into a space for Chloe. She won’t mind at all."

I froze. My hands clamped onto the wooden banister. My room. They were giving away my room without even asking me.

I took the stairs two at a time and shoved my bedroom door open.

My sanctuary was completely violated. Clothes ripped from their hangers littered the hardwood. My mattress was shoved off the box spring. And sitting cross-legged in the dead center of the chaos was Mia.

She held a steel-headed claw hammer in her right hand.

Scattered across the floor around her knees were the shattered, jagged remains of a white plastic casing, tangled wires, and cracked green circuit boards. My heavy-duty, fireproof lockbox sat pried open on my desk, its hinges completely snapped.

She had found the portable ECG monitor.

Mia looked up at me. She didn't even try to hide the vicious, triumphant smirk spreading across her pale face. She picked up a severed wire connected to a crushed sensor pad, dangling it in the air like a dead rat. She shook it, the broken plastic rattling.

"Oops," Mia said, tilting her head. "I thought it was just some plastic toy. You aren't mad, right, sister?"

Hot, violent fury spiked in my chest. I crossed the room in three massive strides, my boots crunching over the plastic debris.

"Who the hell gave you permission to touch my things!" I roared.

Footsteps rushed frantically down the hallway. Mom burst into the bedroom, her eyes darting wildly.

Instantly, Mia dropped the wire. Her wicked smirk vanished, replaced by a violent, theatrical flinch. Tears spilled over her eyelashes on command. She scrambled backward against the bedframe, pulling her knees to her chest.

"I'm sorry!" Mia sobbed, her voice trembling in perfect, calculated distress. "I just—I just wanted to learn about medical equipment! I thought if I understood my condition better, I could help myself recover! I dropped it by accident!"

Mom lunged forward and shoved me hard. Her shoulder slammed into my collarbone, knocking me back a step as she threw herself in front of Mia like a human shield.

"Are you out of your mind, Chloe?" Mom screamed. She glared at the wreckage on the floor, then turned her furious gaze on me. "Bullying your sick sister over a broken piece of trash? Why are you even hoarding dangerous electronic junk in this house?"

My hands curled into tight fists. My nails bit so fiercely into my palms I tasted copper in the back of my throat. I pointed a shaking finger at the crushed green motherboard on the floor.

"Dangerous junk?" I spat, my voice vibrating with rage. "That's a clinical-grade portable ECG monitor. Do you know why it was locked in my safe? Do you know what it’s for? Because—"

"Enough!" Mom barked. She threw her hand up, cutting me off completely. "I do not want to hear another one of your disgusting excuses!"

She wrapped her arms around Mia’s shaking shoulders, pulling the girl tight against her chest. Mom looked at me like I was a disease.

"Look at her," Mom hissed. "She is trying to understand her own terminal illness. She is trying to be proactive and fight for her life, and you attack her for it. You have zero empathy. Chloe, I really regret giving birth to a cold-blooded animal like you."

The words hit me like a bullet. My breath hitched. A sharp, jagged pain ripped through my ribs, twisting my stomach into a tight knot.

I stared at the woman viciously defending my tormentor. Two years ago, a doctor sat in a fluorescent-lit clinic and diagnosed my mother with severe cardiac arrhythmia. Her insurance company refused to cover the premium monitoring equipment she needed to prevent a sudden, fatal stroke.

I worked double shifts at the diner. I sold the vintage gold locket my grandmother left me. I emptied every single penny of my savings account—money meant for my Juilliard application fees—just to buy that exact ECG machine. I kept it hidden in my safe, waiting for her birthday next week to give her the one thing that could actually save her life.

And she just called me a cold-blooded animal while fiercely protecting the parasite who took a hammer to it.

Mom stroked Mia’s hair, kissing the top of her head. "Shh, it's okay, baby. Mommy will protect you from her."

The agonizing pain in my chest instantly calcified into pure, white-hot rage. My jaw tightened into a vicious grin. I let out a sharp, caustic laugh that echoed loudly off the bare walls.

Mom flinched at the sound.

"Whatever," I sneered, the word dripping with absolute venom. I kicked a heavy piece of the shattered circuit board. It skittered across the floor and smacked directly into Mom's expensive shoe. "I don't give a shit anymore."

Over Mom's shoulder, Mia’s fake tears immediately stopped. She flashed me a victorious smile, her fingers tightening confidently around the handle of the hammer. Mom shot me a sharp, warning glare, expecting me to apologize and back down.

I didn't back down. I stared straight at the ruined, unsalvageable machine that was supposed to keep my mother breathing.

"It's destroyed," I said, my voice dangerously calm and laced with a razor-sharp edge. "But it's not my heart that's failing anyway. Don't regret it."

I spun on my heel, walked out of the room, and left them in the wreckage.