"Get away from our special table," Tara hissed, her hands trembling. "This is OUR place."
"Seems like a public restaurant to me." I took another bite.
"You don't deserve any of this. You don't deserve him!"
"Neither do you, apparently," I replied, watching her face contort.
Derek tried to pull her back, but she lunged forward, grabbing a steak knife from my table. Her eyes were wild and unhinged.
"You should just die for coming between us! Then I’ll have him all to myself." she screamed and drove the knife straight into my chest.
I woke up feeling like my chest had been torn apart.
Every heartbeat sent waves of pain through my skull. I tried to lift my hand but even that small movement felt like torture.
"She's waking up! Get the doctor!" a voice called out from somewhere above me.
I forced my eyes open, everything was a blur of white and shadow.
"Where am I?" My voice came out as a whisper.
"Northern Memorial Hospital," the nurse replied, adjusting something on the IV beside me. "You've been unconscious for nearly fourteen hours. Stab wound to the chest, missed your heart by centimeters. You're lucky to be alive."
I tried to swallow. "Who brought me in?”
The nurse nodded toward a corner of the room. "That young lady brought you in. She said she witnessed everything."
I turned my head slightly. A girl, probably in her early twenties with a messy ponytail and concerned eyes, offered a small wave.
"You saved me?" I whispered.
She nodded. "I was at Giovanni's celebrating my graduation. Saw everything. I used to be a lifeguard, so I knew to apply pressure until the ambulance arrived. Then I rode with you here."
"Thank you," I whispered.
"What about my husband? And Tara?" I asked, wincing as I tried to sit up.
The nurse's face darkened. She pulled out her phone and pressed play on a voicemail.
Derek's cold voice filled the room: "This is Derek Montclair. I received your call about Hazel. Do whatever you want with her. She deserves all of this for what she's done to me financially and emotionally. I have nothing more to do with her. Don't call this number again unless she's dead."
My fingers clutched the thin hospital blanket as I processed his words.
Just then, a notification pinged on the young girl’s phone. She frowned, glancing at the screen.
"What is it?" I asked, sensing her discomfort.
"You might not want to see this," she warned, but I snatched the phone from her hands anyway.