“Alena is a fool,” she says. “But she was useful. Easy to blame. Predictable. He was always going to suspect her first.”
On the floor, Alena groans softly, trying to move.
I look at her, then back at the woman standing over me, and the entire shape of the last months rearranges itself at once. The attack. The poison. The evidence. The convenient trail. The timing.
All of it.
“You framed her.”
“She framed herself,” Daria says. “I simply let her reputation do the work. You think last night was the first time.”
“You’ve been behind the attack too?” I say.
“Of course,” she says. “Who do you think handed over the recording to my husband, who in turn gave it to Alena to be used against you? Who do you think has been keeping an eye on you for months hoping you and your parasite stay away from my son.”
There’s a lump in my throat.
“I thought I would be merciful, but when I found out he had found you, I knew I had to act fast,” she says.
“That’s why you had me attacked.”
“Yes, and even before, at the hotel. I wanted to scare you off, but you were just too stubborn, or greedy, or an idiot. Even a bullet didn’t do it for you.”
My eyes are welling up with tears.
“And then he took you on that fucking vacation and I thought I almost lost him. He took my family ring with him to propose.” Her face gets really red. “How dare he even think of giving it to you? So, I quickly came up with a plan, gave myself a low dose of arsenic to make it look like I was sick.”
My heart is hammering so hard I can hear the monitor pick it up. “You are insane.”
She smiles. Thin and terrible. “No. I am the only one in this family who understands what must be done before men ruin everything.”
I reach slowly, blindly, for the call button. Her hand flashes out and catches my wrist.
Even weak, she’s stronger than she should be.
“Don’t,” she says. Her fingers dig into my skin.
I can smell her perfume now under the antiseptic and blood and hospital air. Something soft and expensive and false.
“You should have left him alone,” she says. “You should have taken your little secret and gone quietly. Instead, you came back carrying proof. Do you know what that child would have done? Do you know what it would have tied him to?”
“Our child,” I say, shaking with rage now. “You mean our child.”
Her face hardens completely at that. “No,” she says. “I mean my son’s future. Which you were not going to contaminate.”
The word hits me so hard I almost can’t breathe.
Contaminate.Like I am dirt. Like my baby was dirt.
Something fierce and mean surges through me. Bigger than fear. Bigger than shame.
“I love him,” I say.
Her grip tightens. “That is not your privilege.”
I look straight into her face. “He loves me.”
That cracks something. For the first time, the calm slips.
