Chapter 4

The hand on my arm tightened, and the butler cook spoke up.

"It isn't like that, ma'am. I saw how little Margery was—"

I cut in at once, over her voice.

"Ma'am, I'm sick. I'd like a little money to go to the doctor."

My father, who had been reading his paper without a word, took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Margery, when did you learn to lie for money?"

"There's every kind of medicine in the cabinet here. If you're ill, go find some and take it yourself. Why must you be so precious about it?"

"When Marcia used to get sick, all she could do was curl up under the covers and wait to get better on her own. You have it easy compared to that."

My lower belly ached, and there was a dull, tight pain in my chest.

Wave after wave of dizziness pressed up into my head.

Even so, I remembered clearly: Marcia and her parents lived in the small house out back, the one for the staff.

The slightest discomfort, and she would message me at once, all sweet and coaxing, and have me send the family doctor over.

Back then I cared for her no differently than a little princess of the Simmons house. Back then, we were the closest of friends, without a single wall between us.

Lance tapped a knuckle against the table and said in a flat voice,

"Mr. Simmons, you've got it wrong. No one, however broke, would fake being sick to cheat a few hundred dollars."

I lifted my eyes and looked at him.

But he went on.

"More likely she sees how good we all are to Marcia, and she's faking illness to fish for pity. Just ignore her."

"Let's go. We still have to get Marcia to the concert hall. Tonight's her first time on stage."

Mom and Dad turned to Marcia, their faces softening.

"You're right. We shouldn't let an outsider spoil the mood. Our Marcia is performing today. We should be happy."

They rose and made ready to leave.

Marcia suddenly caught hold of Mom's sleeve.

"But we're all family. It's so lonely leaving little Margery here by herself. Let's bring her along to the concert hall."

Mom gave her an indulgent smile.

"Marcia, you're so kind. Well, if that's your wish, then let's—"

"I'm not going!"

I refused, flat and final, before she could finish.

Every face in front of me darkened, and Marcia looked crushed.

The scolding came pouring in, one over the other.

"Marcia was generous enough to beg Mr. and Mrs. Simmons to take you along, and here you are, too ungrateful to know good from bad."

"Look at what all those years of manners taught you. This is what you've turned into, no breeding at all!"

"If only you had half of Marcia's sense!"

Three years ago there was an accident on stage. A stage light came down and broke both my legs, and I could never dance again.

After several surgeries, I still limped if I walked too fast.

And the concert hall left a deep scar in my mind. Just the thought of it sent an uncontrollable trembling through my whole body.

They knew all of this.

Every time I saw the therapist, they came with me.

Only the fear was never cured, and under the hypnosis I believed, with all my heart, that I'd awakened a system.

After a while, Mom sighed.

"Never mind. We won't force you. Dragging that long face along would only be bad luck anyway."

"Pour some water. We'll watch you take your pills, then we're off."

Every day, Mom oversaw my medicine herself.

So no matter how they treated me afterward, I could always convince myself,

Mom still loved me.

I closed my hand around the pills the therapist had prescribed and swallowed them without hesitation, head tipped back.

Only then did they leave, satisfied.

The cook said, worried,

"The master and the mistress have you all wrong. If you don't explain it clearly, there'll always be a thorn in your heart over it."

I said softly,

"It's all right."

"Auntie, I don't have any strength left. Could you help me pack my things?"

She froze. "You're leaving?"

Then she smiled, at peace with it. "Good. That's good. You shouldn't be trapped here."

I looked out the window at the blue sky.

Yes. I would never be trapped again in a love with no hope.