A dull pain thudded through my abdomen and I remembered with a new, sick clarity: I was carrying Tristan's child. The small life that had once held all my hope had become nothing but an extension of this nightmare.
My brother's condition finally stabilized, but he still lay in a deep, unbroken sleep. Our scheduled trip abroad was only a week away.
I had already been quietly gathering evidence against Hector. That routine surgery—the one that should never have been life-threatening—had turned my brother into a vegetable because someone increased the anesthesia. Whether it was malice or recklessness, Hector and Hillary would both pay!
Just as these thoughts churned in my mind, my phone lit up with a call from an unfamiliar number.
"Meredith."
It was Tristan's voice—cold, firm, leaving no room to refuse. "Tomorrow is Grandma's eightieth birthday. Be there."
He hung up before I could say a word. He assumed I would come—and he was right. Grandma was the only person in the Palmer family who had ever truly cared for me.