Vera had posted a video to her Moments.
There they were—Harrison, Blake, and Vera—standing together on the school's athletic field. Matching smiles. Looking for all the world like a perfect, happy family.
The warmth I had tried to kindle turned to ice.
I thought I was taking Vera to the doctor?
I thought Harrison was taking Blake alone?
What was this?
My hand trembled. The ceramic bowl slipped from my fingers and shattered on the tiles.
A sharp pain shot through my foot. Blood gushed from a fresh cut where a shard had sliced the skin.
I moved to grab the first aid kit, but my wrist—injured previously by Blake—gave out. I couldn't even grip the counter to steady myself.
At that exact moment, the front door clicked open.
Harrison walked in, looking crisp and energized. I opened my mouth to ask for help, to tell him I was bleeding, but the words died in my throat.
Behind him stood Blake. And holding Blake's hand, looking radiant and very much not in need of a doctor, was Vera.
Blake looked up at her, his face glowing with adoration.
"Auntie Vera, I checked online," he announced, ignoring me completely. "For your back injury, you have to eat fish to heal faster. That's why I told Mom to make the pickled fish stew today. It should be ready for us right now."
Blake marched into the kitchen, expectations high. When he saw the pristine, empty counters, his face curdled into a scowl.
"Mom, I just asked Auntie Vera to go to the school event instead of you. Do you really have to throw a tantrum? Smashing bowls and refusing to cook?"
Harrison checked his watch, brow furrowed. His gaze landed on me, heavy with accusation.
"Vera's stomach is sensitive after years abroad. If she doesn't eat on schedule, she gets sick. I'm taking her out now." His tone hardened. "Sara, clean up this mess, then meet us at the restaurant I texted you. And vacuum thoroughly—Vera has a dust allergy. Don't miss a corner."
I caught the glint in Vera's eyes as they fawned over her. Not gratitude. Triumph.
That single, smug look severed the last thread of our friendship.
I'd wanted to ask Harrison to help bandage my bleeding foot. But the words died in my throat. It felt like swallowing acid—keeping it down burned my heart, but spitting it out would destroy what little dignity I had left.
They didn't wait for a response. Harrison and Blake ushered Vera out, leaving me alone with the wreckage.