He had gone to comfort the sister who "couldn't leave him."
How ironic.
When I woke the next morning, Simon was already gone.
On the nightstand sat a velvet box with a note tucked beneath it.
*Jasmine, don't be angry anymore. It's the necklace you liked.*
I flipped the box open. Inside lay a dazzling diamond necklace, a new design I had glanced at in a magazine days ago.
But I felt nothing. No joy, no excitement.
Just a dull numbness.
It was his standard operating procedure: a slap in the face followed by a sweet treat. We had played this scene countless times.
I tossed the necklace into the drawer. It landed atop a pile of other expensive "apologies."
I went downstairs. Jessica Hoffman, the housekeeper, was preparing breakfast.
"Madam, you're up? Would you like some hot milk?"
I shook my head. The thought of food made my stomach turn.
Jessica had been hired by Simon to manage the household. Warm-hearted, but she talked too much.
"When Mr. Henson left this morning, he asked me to tell you he's sorry."
"He also said... please don't hold a grudge against Ms. Henson. She's just a young girl, and with her broken leg... she's truly pitiful."
My lips curled into a bitter smile.
Everyone told me not to hold a grudge against her.
But who would ever tell her not to hold a grudge against me?
I was there during the accident three years ago.
It was Simon's birthday. He had been drinking and insisted on speeding.
I couldn't stop him, so I was forced to go along with his madness.
Sarah sat in the back seat, her face flushed with admiration and excitement.
When we took the turn, a massive truck barreled toward us, headlights blinding in the darkness.
I only had time to scream.
Simon yanked the steering wheel. The car slammed into the guardrail. The rear spun out, crushing against the mountainside.
Because I was wearing a seatbelt, I escaped with minor scrapes.
Simon was fine, too.
But Sarah... the deformed chassis had pinned her leg.
I still remember how he held Sarah, covered in blood, and roared at me, his eyes wild with panic and rage.
"Jasmine Delgado! This is all your fault! If you hadn't insisted on clinging to me! If you hadn't argued with me! I wouldn't have been distracted!"
"If she dies, Jasmine, you're going into the ground with her!"
Was I clinging to him?
He was the one who, drunk on his birthday, dragged me out for a drive.
Was I arguing with him?