Heather sat in her car, parked in the dimly lit indoor parking lot of the hospital. The scent of the flowers sitting beside her filled the car. She tightened her grip on the bundle, tulips she had hastily picked up from a shop on her way. The clerk had suggested adding a card, but Heather refused. Her father didn't care for such gestures. This wasn't about sentiment, it was about effort. And honestly, she hadn't put much thought into it. The flowers felt like a patch for the wound she hadn't addressed, her absence over the last few days.
Putting her mask on, Heather grabbed her bag and stepped out of the car. She swirled her keys around her finger. The act felt oddly comforting, like a small rebellion against the weight pressing down on her chest. She walked toward the elevator.
Ding. The doors opened, and Heather stepped inside. The third floor button lit up beneath her finger. She had always hated elevators, the closed-in space, the way her stomach dipped when the doors opened, the light headedness. It was suffocating, but she endured it.
Ding. She stepped out. She saw Lauren standing outside her father's room. A small child stood beside her, messy brown hair partially hidden beneath a coat. Heather slowed her pace. Her brows knitted as she recognized the uniform peeking out from under the coat. It looked like Alex's, but she wasn't sure, since she couldn't see the upper body part.
Lauren turned to the direction she was coming from, her face immediately stiffened. She didn't look too happy, giving the circumstances on set. Heather wasn't sure if it was blame, irritation, or both. Heather could only laugh at how quickly Lauren dragged the boy into the room, nearly breaking into a run. Why did Lauren seem so… panicked?
She reached the door and stopped. The small window-like frame in the door allowed her to peek inside. Her father sat upright in bed, his face drawn into a deep frown. Evelyn hovered in the corner, her head bowed as though she was carrying the weight of shame. Heather's stomach twisted at the sight of her stepmother. Lauren was out of sight, but another man was in the room. He sat across from her father, his legs crossed, his black suit crisp and tailored. His hair was slicked back, dyed too dark. Unnatural. Heather stared at his profile. Was it Caius? No, this man lacked the strength and presence Caius carried.
She twisted the knob and stepped inside. The room was heavy with tension. A silence so suffocating it felt like a physical barrier. She tightened her grip on the flowers. Her father's frown deepened, his gaze hard and threatening, but Heather didn't flinch. Evelyn refused to meet her eyes. Heather took a deep breath, she wasn't sure how to break the silence.
"How are you feeling?" she asked finally, her voice soft but forced.
Her father didn't answer. The silence dragged on, and Heather felt her nerves fraying. Something was wrong. Was this why he had called her? To confront her?
"Please, Lionel," Evelyn spoke suddenly. "It's not her fault. I told her not to come clean and to keep it between us."
Heather's heart stopped. Come clean? Keep what between them? Did her father find out about the poisoning? Was he angry because she hadn't told him, and now she looked like an accomplice?
"She's right," Heather said quickly, maybe a little bit too quick. "But I… I should have told you about it. I'm sorry."
"The doctor's report came in yesterday. Evelyn was trying to hide it from me, but I saw it."
Heather's stomach dropped. The truth hung heavy in the air, and before she could process his words, Evelyn was on her knees. Her hands were raised in a plea, her head bent, her movements desperate. Heather stared at her stepmother, a mixture of satisfaction and disbelief coursing through her. This was justice, Evelyn, the woman who had caused so much pain, begging for redemption?
Ha!
After all the years of being a cunny, she was now caught red-handed. Her father had seen Evelyn for who she really is.
A snake. A manipulator. A pretender. A murderer. A witch. And a liar. He's seeing her for who she is. Evil and all.
But then, as Heather watched Evelyn grovel, an unsettling thought crept into her mind. Was she involved? Was her silence an act of complicity? She turned to the other man in the room. Maybe he was someone in the force. A lieutenant or something. And once her father says the word, the force would be in her sweeping away the garbages. Herself and Evelyn.
She felt the weight of guilt pressing down on her shoulders, and before she realized what she was doing, Heather fell to her knees too. Her hands joined together, held above her head, her eyes closing.
"Honey, Heather didn't know what she did," Evelyn said suddenly, her voice soft and convincing. "She was only trying to help."
"Yes, that's right. I thought she had it all under control. I am very sorry you found out this way."
"Why did you do it?" her father asked, his voice cutting through the tension.
The room fell silent. Her father was asking why Evelyn poisoned him. He didn't understand Evelyn did it because of the inheritance. And she wondered why she wasn't telling him that.
Heather opened her eyes. She turned her gaze to Evelyn, waiting for her to confess, to tell her father that she had poisoned him for the inheritance. But instead, Evelyn turned to her. Everyone in the room followed suit, the man in the suit, Lauren, even her father. Why were they looking at her? Why wasn't anyone staring at Evelyn?
"It's shocking," Lionel said finally, his voice breaking the silence. "That I was poisoned by a member of my family. If it had been an outsider…" His voice wavered. "I wouldn't feel the betrayal I feel now."
"She was just trying to give you your medication," Evelyn interrupted. "And she accidentally overdosed it. You know how clumsy Heather is. She can be silly at times. It was just a mistake, and she's very sorry."
Heather tilted her head. Overdose? Medication? Clumsy? Evelyn's lie was meticulous, crafted to shift the spotlight and twist the truth. Heather's fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms. Evelyn wasn't protecting her, she was lying. Fabricating a story to shift the blame onto Heather. She had felt a pang of sympathy for Evelyn earlier, but now it was replaced by pure, unfiltered rage. This woman wasn't just manipulative, she was dangerous. Heather stared at Evelyn, who was lying with a straight face.