My Mother Faked Her Death To Protect My Husband’s Mistress Chapter 04
The Bracelet
Elliot’s hand freezes in the air.
He follows my gaze to the jade bracelet on Claire’s wrist.
For one second, no one speaks.
Claire flinches like I slapped her and quickly hides her hand behind her back.
“June, if you want it, I’ll give it back,” she says.
Her eyes turn red.
“I just wanted something to remember your mom by.”
Elliot’s face tightens.
He lowers his voice, but I still hear the blame in it.
“June, it’s just a bracelet. Do you really have to be this petty?”
Petty. Like I am making a scene over nothing.
“Your mom liked Claire,” he says. “Maybe this was what she wanted. Do you have to make this ugly for everyone?”
I look at him.
“She liked Claire, so Claire gets the jewelry my mother promised me for my wedding?”
My voice stays calm.
“Tell me, Elliot. Am I her daughter, or is Claire?”
Elliot takes a deep breath, like he is trying very hard not to lose his temper.
“June, have you forgotten why your mother died?”
The words cut straight through me.
He is reminding me.
Mom died because of me.
So I do not get to fight.
I do not get to ask for anything.
I stand there, and the blood seems to drain out of my body.
Then the room begins to blur.
Claire’s face blurs, and for one terrifying second, I see Mom standing where she stands.
Mom stands beside Elliot, pointing at my face.
“June, you ungrateful girl!”
Her voice claws through my head.
“Why didn’t you die instead?”
The ringing in my ears grows louder.
I squeeze my eyes shut and start counting.
One. Two. Three…
“June?”
Elliot’s voice cuts through the noise.
He steps closer and grabs my shoulders.
“What’s wrong? Are you seeing things again?”
I open my eyes.
Mom is gone.
Claire is still there, watching me with a worried little face.
Elliot scoops me into his arms.
“I’ll take her to the hospital,” he says to Claire.
Then he carries me out.
The car speeds through the city.
At the hospital, Elliot gets me in to see a specialist. He keeps one hand on my back the whole time, as if I might break apart if he lets go.
Right before we enter the doctor’s office, his phone rings.
He looks at the screen.
His face changes.
Only a little.
“June, go in first,” he says. “I have to take this. It’s an urgent work call.”
He touches my hair.
“I’ll be right back.”
He turns and walks toward the stairwell.
I do not go into the doctor’s office.
I follow him.
The stairwell door does not close all the way.
Through the narrow crack, I hear his lowered voice.
“Claire, don’t cry.”
My fingers curl against my palm.
“She’s sick again. The doctor said she can’t handle any more stress.”
He pauses.
“Once I calm her down, I’ll come with you to the gallery opening later, okay?”
His voice gets softer.
“Be good. Don’t overthink it. Keep the bracelet on.”
I lean against the cold wall.
So this is what my illness is to him. Not my pain, not my fear, not proof that I have been breaking for years.
Just a tool he can use to comfort another woman.
I do not push the door open.
I turn around and walk back to the hall.
I sit on a bench for a long time.
When Elliot finally comes back, he looks rushed and worried, like a man who has been searching for me.
“How did it go?” he asks. “What did the doctor say?”
I look at him.
“The doctor says I’m getting worse.”
I see irritation flash across his eyes.
Then it disappears.
“It’s okay,” he says gently. “We’ll take it slow.”
He takes my hand and leads me out.
“I’ll take you to your favorite Japanese place.”
At the restaurant, he orders all the dishes I used to love.
Halfway through the meal, he glances at his watch.
“June,” he says, guilt already written across his face. “I have to go to Linwood tonight.”
I lower my eyes to the soup in front of me.
Linwood.
The gallery opening.
“A project ran into trouble,” he says. “I need to handle it myself.”
I stir the soup slowly.
“Do you have to go?”
Elliot reaches across the table and covers my hand with his.
“I promise I’ll be back the day after tomorrow at the latest.”
His thumb strokes my skin.
“Stay home, take your medicine, and be good.”
I pull my hand away.
Then I pick up a napkin and wipe the corner of my mouth.
“Okay,” I say.
“You should go.”