I wrenched free and slapped him hard across the face. "Tristan, you've disappointed me so much."
For a moment, anger flared in his eyes, then guilt, then a flicker of shame. "If you need to hit or yell, do it to me—but don't take it out on Hillary. She's innocent."
Even now, his first instinct was to protect her. At that moment, I finally saw it clearly—these seven years had been nothing but an illusion.
When they brought my brother out, I followed. In the ward I clutched his cold hand and choked on the words, "Brother... I only have you... don't leave me..."
No matter how I begged, his eyes stayed shut.
...
The next day, Tristan texted that he would arrange a transfer for my brother. I replied once. [You don't need to concern yourself!] Then I blocked him.
The string of disasters left me hollow. I collapsed into the hotel bed and slept until I fell into a nightmare.
In the dream I stood on a cliff's edge opposite Tristan. He had one arm around Hillary and the other clutching their child. Beside me lay my mother and my brother, broken and distant. Their faces were full of disappointment.
"I told you not to marry him!" my mother cried. "You wouldn't listen. Now he's ruined me and your brother—you don't even have a place to cry!"
"Meredith," my brother said coldly, "I spoiled you too much. That's why you let wolves into our home. I... can't rest in peace."
I screamed and reached for them, but they drifted farther away.
When I woke up, my pillow was soaked with tears. The ache in my ribs—the constant, gnawing pain—forced me back into the harshness of reality. I had once believed we would be two for life; now all that remained was regret so vast it swallowed me whole.
I regretted loving him. I regretted handing him the power to shatter everything.
A dull pain thudded through my abdomen and I remembered with a new, sick clarity: I was carrying Tristan's child. The small life that had once held all my hope had become nothing but an extension of this nightmare.
My brother's condition finally stabilized, but he still lay in a deep, unbroken sleep. Our scheduled trip abroad was only a week away.
I had already been quietly gathering evidence against Hector. That routine surgery—the one that should never have been life-threatening—had turned my brother into a vegetable because someone increased the anesthesia. Whether it was malice or recklessness, Hector and Hillary would both pay!