I remembered the nights I’d been sick, weak and alone in that same house. Days when I could barely lift my head, let alone take care of Lyra. And where was Kelvin then? He was nowhere to be found—never there to hold my hand, bring me medicine, or offer even a moment of comfort.
It was Lyra who’d tried to help, her tiny hands holding a glass of water up to me, her worried eyes watching over me in ways a child never should have to. And as I looked at Kelvin now, doting on Patricia like she was made of glass, the unfairness of it all tightened in my chest until I could barely breathe.
Seeing him with her, it was painfully clear—he never wanted to be there for me, even when I needed him most.
Without another word, I took my suitcase and left but…
I hadn’t even reached the door when Patricia’s voice slid through the air like poison.
“You know, Kelvin,” she drawled, clutching her sling as if she was still in pain, “Did you know that Lucille’s always been jealous of me? Obsessed with her ‘perfect little family.’ So desperate for control… even over her own daughter.”
I paused, feeling the heat crawl up my neck. “What are you talking about, Patricia?”