Chapter 3: The Person Who Knew I Could Walk
I read the message three times.
Each time, the words became heavier.
The person who helped me recover was the same person who betrayed me.
I looked around the ballroom.
Everyone had a face.
Everyone had a secret.
But only one person had been there from the beginning.
Only one person knew every detail of my recovery.
Daniel.
My best friend.
My business partner.
The man who sat beside me during the darkest nights when I thought my life was over.
The thought felt impossible.
Then again, so did Brooke leaving me.
Until she did.
I rolled away from the crowd and headed toward the quiet hallway outside the ballroom.
Behind me, the party continued.
People laughed.
Music played.
Nobody noticed the man they had just humiliated disappearing into the shadows.
That was always the advantage of being underestimated.
People stopped watching.
I reached the end of the hallway and opened the message again.
My thumb hovered over the reply button.
Finally, I typed:
*Who are you?*
The response came immediately.
*Someone who knows what Brooke did.*
I stared at the screen.
*What did she do?*
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally:
*Ask her why the truck driver who hit you disappeared two days after the accident.*
My blood went cold.
The accident.
Everyone said it was random.
A tragic mistake.
A drunk driver.
A horrible night.
But there had always been questions.
The police report had missing details.
The driver had been released before trial.
And Brooke had always avoided talking about it.
I heard footsteps behind me.
I locked my phone.
“Running away already?””
I turned.
Brooke stood at the end of the hallway.
Alone.
No Chad.
No audience.
Just her.
For the first time all night, she wasn’t performing.
“What do you want?””
She crossed her arms.
“I want to understand something.””
“What?””
“How you can sit there pretending you’re better than everyone.””
I almost laughed.
“After what you did tonight, that’s your question?””
“Yes.””
Her eyes narrowed.
“Because I know you.””
“No.””
She stepped closer.
“I know you better than anyone.””
I looked at her.
“You knew the version of me that was useful.””
Her jaw tightened.
“You think I abandoned you because of your wheelchair.””
“Didn’t you?””
“No.””
The answer came too quickly.
I studied her face.
“Then why?””
She looked away.
A tiny crack appeared.
“I was scared.””
I didn’t expect that.
“Scared of what?””
She was silent.
Then she said:
“Of losing everything.””
I frowned.
“What does that mean?””
She shook her head.
“Forget it.””
“No.””
My voice hardened.
“You wanted everyone to know your side of the story. Now tell me the truth.””
For a moment, Brooke looked like the woman I used to love.
The woman who cried in my hospital room.
The woman who promised forever.
Then the mask returned.
“You don’t get to demand honesty from me.””
I smiled sadly.
“That’s interesting.””
“What?””
“Because you spent the last hour demanding everyone believe yours.””
Her face changed.
A notification sound interrupted us.
Brooke looked down at her phone.
Whatever she saw made her expression disappear.
“What happened?””
She locked the screen.
“Nothing.””
But I knew that look.
That wasn’t nothing.
That was panic.
Before I could ask, Chad appeared at the hallway entrance.
“Brooke.””
She turned.
“What?””
His voice was low.
“We have a problem.””
She walked toward him.
“What kind of problem?””
Chad glanced at me.
Then back at her.
“The media got the photo.””
The world seemed to stop.
Brooke froze.
“What photo?””
Chad swallowed.
“The one of Ethan standing.””
Her face went pale.
For the first time that night, Brooke looked afraid.
Not annoyed.
Not embarrassed.
Afraid.
I rolled closer.
“What are you two talking about?””
Neither answered.
I looked between them.
Then Brooke whispered:
“Who sent it?””
Chad looked at me.
“I don’t know.””
My phone vibrated again.
Another message.
I opened it.
This time, there was a name.
A name that made my entire body go still.
*The person who saved you wasn’t your doctor.*
*It was your mother.*
I stared at the screen.
My mother had died twelve years ago.
And beneath the message was a photograph.
A recent photograph.
May you like
Of a woman standing outside the hospital where I spent months recovering.
A woman who looked exactly like her.
