Chapter 5

Ismael stood in the doorway, his expression a mixture of suspicion and hurt. "Who was that?"

"My mother," I replied, turning away to toss the blood-soaked paper towel in the trash. I hid my hand in my pocket.

"What's happening in two weeks?" he pressed.

"A family matter," I said vaguely. I wasn't ready to give them the satisfaction of knowing my plans. Let them wonder.

He seemed to accept the explanation, his anger from before returning to the forefront. He didn't ask about my side of the story or why I might have been upset. His concern was singular.

"Judi has a sprained wrist," he said, his tone cold and accusatory. "The doctor said she needs to rest it. She was crying the whole time, saying she was afraid you'd fire her."

"I'm not her boss anymore," I replied flatly. "I resigned this morning."

He stared at me, shocked. "You what? Because of this? Because of a broken trophy?"

"No, Ismael. Not because of a broken trophy."

He shook his head, unable or unwilling to understand. "I don't get you, Ange." He walked past me and went upstairs to his room, the one he still kept in my house for when he was in town. The distance between us felt as wide as an ocean.

I was alone again. I walked through the house, the silence pressing in on me. The smell of the gardenias Danial had planted for me years ago, because he knew they were my favorite, drifted in through the open window. For years, that scent had meant home, safety, and love.

Now, it just made me sick.

A wave of dizziness hit me, and my chest tightened. It was the same symptom that had started my mysterious illness. An allergic reaction, the doctors had said, but they could never identify the trigger. I stumbled to the kitchen, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. I needed my emergency inhaler and the EpiPen.

I fumbled through the drawers, my vision blurring. Where did I put them? My purse. It was in the living room. I staggered back, my legs feeling weak. I saw my purse on the coffee table and lunged for it, knocking over a crystal vase in my haste. It shattered on the floor, the sound echoing in the cavernous room.

I ignored it, my hands desperately searching inside my bag. The inhaler wasn't there. The EpiPen wasn't there. Panic seized me. I must have left them in the upstairs bathroom.

Danial chose that moment to return from the hospital. He walked in to see me gasping for air, surrounded by broken glass.

His eyes didn't focus on my distress. They fixed on the shattered remains of the vase.

"That was a gift from my mother," he said, his voice dangerously low. "For your housewarming."

He didn't see me suffocating. He saw a broken object.

He strode towards me, his face a mask of cold fury. "First the trophy, now this. What is wrong with you, Angelina? Are you trying to destroy every good thing we have?"

He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. "Answer me!"

The force of the shove sent me stumbling backward. My head hit the sharp corner of the bookshelf. A flash of white-hot pain exploded behind my eyes, and then darkness.

When I came to, I was on the floor. My head was throbbing, and my throat felt raw. I could breathe again, though each breath was a painful effort. I pushed myself up, my hand coming away from the back of my head sticky with blood.

Danial was on his knees, meticulously picking up the larger pieces of his mother's vase. He hadn't even looked at me.

I crawled to my purse, my vision still swimming. My fingers finally closed around the spare EpiPen I kept in a hidden pocket. With a shaking hand, I jammed it into my thigh. The medicine flooded my system, and the world slowly came back into focus.

I stumbled upstairs to my bathroom, my legs unsteady. I found my primary inhaler and took a deep, shuddering puff. The relief was immediate. I leaned against the sink, looking at my reflection in the mirror. There was a gash on my head, and blood was matting my hair. My face was pale, my eyes wide with a pain that went far beyond the physical.

Downstairs, I could hear the clink of glass as Danial continued to clean up his precious vase. The sound was the loneliest I had ever heard.