Page 238 of Sinister

She smiles and moves closer, wrapping her arms around me in a hug, but my bump gets in the way.

“Oh!” she chuckles. “I’ll make arrangements to see a doctor, okay? We’ll talk about vitamins and supplements and⁠—”

She keeps rambling. I nod along, not really listening.

Though her apology is genuine, and I’m honestly surprised by how well she’s handled all this, I don’t have the mental bandwidth to deal with both my parents and Sin at the same time.

Because now I know: Sin never died. He is immortal.

And that makes me wonder what truly happened in the past. Did he make a deal with the devil? Is he some type of devil?

But more importantly, he survived, and past me did not.

So how did I die?

67

PETRA

In a matter of hours, my parents have gone from two people who never gave me much thought to the strangers now preparing dinner for a family meal. I’m a little bit in shock.

After my conversation with my mom, I definitely started seeing things a little differently and began to consider their perspective, but this? This is a complete 180-degree change, and I’m not sure what to think of it.

I put on some nice clothes that won’t emphasize my baby bump—no need for awkward conversations over dinner—and head downstairs. The smell of home-cooked food wafts through the air, and I’m immediately salivating.

When was the last time my mom actually cooked? I can’t even remember. Not only did she make the effort tonight, but she made my favorite comfort food: mashed potatoes with gravy and steak.

The baby seems to approve, too, tapping lightly against my stomach as my hunger grows into something ravenous.

Eager to dig in, I take a seat at the table. But just as my mom starts plating the food, the doorbell rings.

I frown. “Are we expecting someone?” I ask.

Both my mom and dad look confused. They shake their heads.

“I’ll get it,” I mumble, getting up to answer the door—only to be greeted by the last person I wanted to see today: Sin.

He’s smiling like nothing at all has happened. In his hands, he has a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, stunned.

“I thought I’d come over and meet your parents,” he says, all casual.

“What?” I demand. “How do you even know they’re home?”

“I saw their cars in the driveway,” he replies with a shrug.

Before I can say anything—or send him packing—he steps right inside, bypassing me completely and heading straight for the dining room.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Valentine,” he greets them cheerfully.

My parents are staring at him, mouths agape.

I close the door quickly and rush in after him.

“This is for you, Mrs. Valentine.” Sin hands her the bouquet. “And this is for you,” he adds, offering my father the wine. “It’s a vintage from the 1980s. I thought you might enjoy it.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely gift,” my mom murmurs, still clearly shocked.