Finland? My breath caught. That had been my dream destination for years, and they’d always claimed it was impossible, a waste of money.
“Yeah,” Gabriel added casually. “Doctor cleared Sabrina for travel next week, so we’re booking our flight.”
“Without me?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
Nathan turned with a smile. I didn’t mirror it. “Don’t worry—we’ll send you a gift for the wedding. A dress, something. Anyway, rest up. We’ll take Sabrina to her next hospital appointment.”
And just like that, they were gone again.
I didn’t answer. I nodded quietly, closing the door behind them. So this was it—me, a background note in someone else’s life.
Fine. Let them think I was still around. I’d leave quietly, disappear completely. No one would notice, and when they did… they’d regret it. I just needed a little more time.
Later that afternoon, I finally left the bedroom and headed to the kitchen, craving something warm. Soup, maybe. Something genuine, not thrown together for show.
As I opened the fridge and began chopping vegetables, I heard it—a soft shuffle behind me.
I turned slowly.
Sabrina stood there, pale pink cardigan, hair braided neatly. Innocent, helpless little sister image in full effect.
“I didn’t know you were up,” she said, voice sweet, leaning against the counter. “I thought you were still sick… or maybe pretending?”
I ignored her, chopping steadily.
“I mean,” she continued with a fake laugh, “did you really go to the hospital? Or were you just faking it because I was there, stealing the spotlight?”
I set down the knife, eyes locking on hers. “I’m not like you.”
Her expression hardened. “What does that mean?”
“You crave attention,” I said evenly. “Always play the victim.”
“Oh please,” she scoffed, voice sharp. “You’re jealous. How does it feel… knowing both Nathan and Gabriel love me now? Your boyfriend, your best friend—they’re mine. And you? You’re nothing.”
I flinched slightly, just enough for her to notice and smirk.
“Really, you should leave this apartment,” she said. “You don’t belong here anymore.”
I turned back to the pot, stirring slowly, ignoring her.
“Still pretending you’re above it all, huh?” she mocked. “Fine, I’ll help cook. The boys will love it.”
I spun toward her. “No, Sabrina. I don’t need help.”
“I’ll make something anyway,” she said cheerfully, grabbing a knife. “Let’s see which they like better—yours or mine.”