“SHE DID THIS ON PURPOSE!”

Chloe’s shriek ricocheted off the living-room walls, raw and accusatory. She sat half-propped on the chaise the doctor had moved her to, cradling her bandaged arm as if

it were a mortal wound. Her eyes, wild, bloodshot, locked on me with pure loathing.

I held her stare for a beat, face carefully blank. Then Gregory turned. The moment his gaze landed on me, I let my mask slip: shoulders sagging, eyes widening in feigned hurt, lower lip trembling just enough.

He exhaled sharply and shifted his attention back to his wife.

The second we’d crashed to the floor, Chloe had wailed like someone dying—tears streaming,...