Chapter 5: The Showdown

I looked at the date on the acceptance letter, then at the calendar beside me.

It was circled in blue marker, squeezed between appointments and reminders. My heart did a little flip.

I picked up a pen and quietly marked the reporting day. Coincidentally, it was also Derek’s birthday.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. I smiled at the word ‘departure,’ finally choosing my own adventure.

Suddenly, there was a knock at my door.

It was the polite, double-tap Derek always used. My spine straightened—old habits die hard. For a second, I almost called out before remembering: I didn’t have to answer to him anymore.

It was Derek.

He knocked twice and came in. This time, a girl followed him inside.

The room shrank, heavy with unspoken things. Derek looked like he’d rehearsed every step, his hand hovering above Natalie’s shoulder.

She sat in a wheelchair, dressed in white.

The dress was crisp, maybe new—a hopeful gesture. The white looked stark against her pale skin. I noticed her hands, knotted in her lap, trembling slightly. Her perfume was faint—something powdery and expensive, clinging to the air as she rolled in.

Her face was bloodless, her eyes tinged with melancholy.

She looked like a porcelain doll from an antique shop, fragile and remote. Her eyes flicked to me, then away, afraid to meet my gaze.

She looked frail and delicate.

A faint tremor in her hand betrayed nerves she tried to hide. The silence dragged on, broken only by the hum of the AC.

“Aubrey, come here,” he said.

His voice was too calm, the kind he used to soften bad news. I recognized it instantly.

I didn’t move, just glanced at the girl—Natalie Foster.

I used to think if I never confessed, Derek wouldn’t bring her here. But I was wrong—some things are just meant to happen. My hands curled into fists at my sides.

“Aubrey.” Derek frowned, calling my name again.

His brow was furrowed, and for a split second, he looked almost desperate. My heart ached, but I wouldn’t cave.

Natalie saw my indifference, lowered her eyes, and spoke softly: “Derek, it’s okay. It’s normal for Aubrey not to like me the first time we meet.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but her words landed like a stone in a pond. I could feel everyone watching me, waiting.

“If my presence makes her uncomfortable, I can go back to the house in the suburbs. I have no legs, I can’t go anywhere. I can stay anywhere.”

Her tone was laced with practiced self-pity. Even so, guilt twisted in my gut. I hated that.

“It’s not necessary for me to live here.”

She folded her hands tighter, almost as if offering to disappear. It felt manipulative, but I bit my tongue.

As she spoke, her eyes filled with tears that never fell.

She blinked fast, holding back the flood. The staff in the hallway shifted uncomfortably. I felt like the villain in a soap opera.

Like a delicate little flower, pretending to be strong.

She reminded me of girls in old Southern novels—pain always center stage. I braced for what was coming.

Derek’s gaze toward me was laced with disappointment.

He looked at me like I’d kicked a puppy. I wanted to shout it wasn’t fair, but the words stuck in my throat.

“Aubrey—”

His tone was a warning, the same edge I’d heard in business meetings gone south. Now, it was aimed at me.

“Uncle Derek, whoever you want to live in the house can live here. You don’t need to tell me.”

I kept my voice even, determined not to show him how much it hurt. The words tasted bitter.

“You’re the head of the house.” My voice was calm, almost cold.

But to Derek, it was full of thorns.

He bristled, like I’d slapped him. I could see the storm gathering in his eyes, but I refused to back down.