Grandma Faked Dementia So My Sister Could Steal My Fiancé. Chapter 07

Grandma Faked Dementia So My Sister Could Steal My Fiancé. Chapter 07

A week after I left home, Diane finally tracked me down at Megan’s bakery.

Her hair was a mess, dark circles shadowing her eyes.

When she saw me behind the counter labeling boxes, her face hardened.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding out while everyone else cleans up the mess?”

Megan started to speak, but I stopped her.

“We’ll talk outside.”

We stood outside the shop.

She lowered her voice. “Your grandmother’s been crying for days and barely eating. Are you really

this heartless?”

“Hire a caregiver.”

“Caregivers cost money.”

“I’ll pay my share.”

She glared at me. “So you won’t be satisfied until you’ve torn this family apart?”

I looked at her.

“I’m the one who tore it apart?”

Her eyes reddened immediately.

“Your sister’s young. She made a mistake. Ethan lost his head too. You’re twenty-nine, Claire. Can’t

you be the bigger person and stop holding this over her?”

I laughed.

“A twenty-four-year-old grad student is a little girl who doesn’t know better, but the twenty-nine-year-old whose fiance slept with her sister is supposed to be mature about it?”

She looked away.

“Lily’s always been delicate. Sensitive. You’ve always been stronger. Why can’t you let her have this

one thing?”

There it was again.

Let her have it.

Growing up, I’d given her the better bedroom, the new clothes, my birthday money, and most of our

parents’ attention.

Now they wanted me to give her my fiance too.

What came next?

Was I supposed to carve up my life and hand that over to Lily too?

“No.”

Diane’s expression hardened.

“Don’t forget, your grandmother practically raised you. You don’t turn your back on someone who

did that for you.”

That one landed.

Grandma really had helped raise me.

When my parents were busy, she’d pick me up from school, braid my hair, and hand me hot chocolate on freezing winter afternoons.

That was why I’d dropped everything, time after time, whenever she pretended to be sick.

Because I remembered how she’d loved me.

But she remembered my weak spot too.

She had taken that old love and turned it into a leash.

I said, “She helped raise me. I’ll contribute to her legitimate care and medical bills.”

“But I’m not letting her manipulate me back into that house.”

Diane raised a hand.

The slap never landed.

Megan stood in the doorway, watching her coldly.

“Mrs. Bennett, there are cameras all over the shop.”

Diane’s hand froze in midair.

Finally, she dropped it.

“You’re going to regret this, Claire.”

I said, “I already regret plenty.”

I regretted taking so long to wake up.

I regretted mistaking being needed for being loved.

I regretted giving and giving until they’d learned there was always more to take.

After Diane left, Megan baked me a scone.

The room filled with the smell of butter.

She pushed the plate toward me.

“You don’t have to prove to them that you’re a good daughter, a good sister, or a good granddaughter.”

I broke the scone open.

Steam rose from the middle.

She said, “For now, just prove you’re still alive.”

I took a bite.

It was hot.

Hot enough to bring tears to my eyes.

That night, for the first time in years, I slept until I woke on my own.

No Grandma knocking on my door in the middle of the night.

No Diane telling me to make oatmeal.

No Lily sweetly asking, “Claire, can you help me with something?”

No Ethan tossing out that weightless little line, “Don’t wear yourself out.”

When I woke, sunlight spilled across the white comforter.

The room was small.

But the air felt like freedom.