By Tuesday morning, the hospital discharged me under strict orders: daily wound debridement, antibiotic ointments, and zero exposure to direct sunlight. When I looked in the bathroom mirror before leaving, I nearly collapsed.
The left side of my jawline, extending down the side of my neck to my collarbone, was a mottled patchwork of raw crimson, weeping blisters, and dead, grayish-yellow skin. The doctors had shaved the hair around my left temple to treat the burns near my ear. I looked like a survivor of a house fire.
Tyler drove me back to my small apartment on the outskirts of the city. He had bought heavy blackout curtains and installed them while I was in the hospital, desperate to make the space safe for me.
“You can’t stay here long, Maren,” Tyler said, setting my prescription bottles on the kitchen counter. “Mom has a key. She tried to come by yesterday while you were still admitted. She said she wanted to ‘clean up’ your paperwork so you wouldn’t be stressed.”
“Did she take anything?” I asked, panic flaring anew.
“No, I had already changed the deadbolt,” Tyler replied. “She was furious. She threatened to cut me off, said I was tearing the family apart right after Kendall’s big day.”
A knock rattled the apartment door before Tyler could finish his sentence. Three sharp, entitled raps.
Tyler moved toward the peephole, his shoulders slumping. “It’s Kendall.”
“Let her in,” I said cold, dead calm washing over the terror. “And start recording on your phone.”
Tyler unlocked the door. Kendall swept into the room, dressed in an oversized designer trench coat and dark sunglasses, as if she were the celebrity evading paparazzi. She carried a massive bouquet of white lilies—the kind people sent to funerals.
“Maren!” she gasped, dropping the flowers onto the counter and rushing toward me with outstretched arms.
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, stepping back so quickly my back hit the wall.
Kendall stopped, lowering her sunglasses. For a second, a flicker of genuine shock crossed her face as she saw the bare, weeping wounds on my neck. But the look passed almost instantly, replaced by an aggrieved scowl.
“Do you know what people are saying online?” Kendall hissed, dropping her voice. “Someone leaked the video from the reception! They’re calling me a monster! My sponsor for the honeymoon suite dropped me this morning! They canceled my brand deal with Sephora!”
“You threw industrial lye in my face, Kendall,” I said, each word dripping with ice. “You burned my flesh off.”
“It was an accident!” she shrieked, stamping her foot like a petulant child. “Mom gave me the glass! She told me it was just high-proof white rum that would sting your eyes for a second so you’d stop babbling about Dad’s will in front of Greg’s family! She said it was harmless!”
“Harmless?” Tyler yelled from the kitchen doorway, holding up his phone. “It’s concentrated drain cleaner, Kendall! The doctor said if she hadn’t washed it off, it would have severed her artery!”
Kendall’s gaze flicked to Tyler’s recording phone, and her expression turned instantly venomous. She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a manila envelope, tossing it onto the dining table.
“Sign it,” she demanded, looking at me. “It’s an affidavit stating it was an allergic reaction to a citrus liqueur. If you sign it, Mom will give you your full twenty-five percent cut of Dad’s patent payout. Two hundred thousand dollars, Maren. Cash. You sign, or Mom sells the family home and leaves you with nothing.”
