Chapter 3 - My Sister's Keeper

🌙𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐡

The whole room seemed to hold its breath as the words fell out of my mouth, sharp and sudden.

Even my aunt froze, but she recovered quickly, her mouth twisting into a sneer.

"Said the murderer."

Ajax scoffed, amused.

Her retort did exactly what it aimed to; it hit like a freight train, and my squared shoulders slumped instantly. I stole some composure and tried not to lose myself. My voice was resigned and tired when I spoke again. I had forgotten just how much energy it took to relate with people.

"What do you want, Aunty?"

Ajax sat up, the odor of burnt tobacco making my stomach turn.

My aunt's dark eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Why can't we visit?" she demanded. "It's been three years. Are we not family anymore? You didn't even offer your own family a ticket to your games. So I figured we would drop in."

I blinked slowly, cradling the urn closer to my chest. Aunty was as volatile as WiFi when I decided to be productive—unstable, unreliable, and obnoxiously dramatic.

"I am not a hotel," I said flatly. "You should have called, messaged me—hell, you could have sent a messenger pigeon. So I could make arrangements."

"You're not five stars either," Ajax muttered, puffing out smoke like a chimney. He glanced around my studio apartment like it was an insult to him.

"You still live with your aunt," I said. It wasn't a retort, just a statement. A fact he didn't like—which was enough for him to shut up.

For now.

"AJ is right," my uncle chimed in, wrinkling his nose like I wouldn't have to bleach the spot he was sitting in. His rheumy eyes found mine.

"This place is a fucking dump."

My eye twitched, but he wasn't worth the trouble. I turned to my aunt again.

"What are you here for?" I asked. "I already sent the $2,000 for this month, if I recall correctly."

"So you've lumped your family into a monthly subscription plan?"

"Did you give me a choice?"

She gasped dramatically.

"Are you saying I forced you to send your own family money? I didn't know you saw us as a burden."

Yeah, right.

When I didn't fall for the bait, her voice turned icy—and I knew what was coming next.

"Your mother would be disgusted."

Another hit. 2–0. But I refused to show it. I was not going to give her the satisfaction.

"After the stunt you pulled with her funeral arrangements, that's rich coming from you."

"You don't know anything—" my uncle growled.

My aunt cut him off quickly.

"Gerald!"

My head snapped to him.

"What don't I know, exactly? Is it the fact that you came to my mother's funeral, called her Ivy instead of Iris, and pissed—"

What the hell was I doing, arguing with these people? I caught myself in time and let the words trail off.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and inhaled deeply. Then I turned around and placed my mother's urn in its rightful place.

They all watched me like I was a circus animal as I retrieved my wallet. I pulled out a two-hundred-dollar bill and offered it to my aunt.

"You should be able to find an inn for the night. I need my space. Tonight is not the night."

They exchanged looks—even the twins. My aunt glanced at the money like it had shit on it.

"Is that all you're giving us?" she asked. "Where's the rest?"

I raised a brow.

"The rest?"

The couch behind me creaked as Ajax got up. My skin prickled when I felt his heavy hands on my shoulders. His voice was cold, menacing.

"Don't play dumb."

It was a threat.

Aunty Agnes stepped closer, her eyes scanning me. She reached out and tucked my hair behind my ear, and I felt my skin crawl.

"We know about the money."

She smiled, but those dark eyes didn't soften.

Her husband's stench wafted through the air as he rose, stepping beside her—further caging me in.

"One million dollars," he said aloud.

My stomach should have clenched. I should have shuddered at the not-so-subtle intimidation. But instead, bile rose in my throat as the smell of rotten onions assaulted my nose. I knew better than to expect anything else.

I shrugged Ajax's hand off my shoulder and put some space between us.

"One million dollars," my uncle repeated, dragging the words out like I was hard of hearing. His eyes gleamed with greed.

I simply watched him.

"It's all over the news. Who would've thought that a girl throwing a ball around could bring so much money into the family?"

Aunty gushed, but her tone was condescending.

"Pretty sure the coach helped her out for something in return. Girls don't get that far in sports without opening their legs. But money is money," Ajax added.

My eyes narrowed. Their words bit deep, but I refused to react.

"You owe us far more than the measly $2k you send monthly. And again—what exactly are you planning to do with that sum? A Brooks has one million dollars. That comes with obligations. That's how family works."

"Pretty sure I've never been family. And what exactly do I owe any of you?"

"You killed—"

"I killed my mother. I let her get hit for my miserable life. I killed your ATM machine."

"She was my only sister," she countered.

"Yet she worked like a dog day and night while you did nothing but be a fucking parasite."

I knew the slap was coming. But I let her hit me. And I watched her face fall when I didn't flinch. Didn't react.

"Take the money and get out."

My voice was level, not raised. I had no time for their theatrics.

No one spoke. No one moved. But my ears twitched when I heard footsteps coming from the only other room in my studio apartment. I knew it was her even before I turned around—because who else would enter your bedroom without permission?

I turned toward the sound slowly, already knowing who it was. The voice alone made my chest tighten, like invisible hands were squeezing around my lungs.

Charlotte.

And there she stood, leaning against the doorframe like she belonged there. Like this was her apartment. Like I hadn't clawed my way out of the gutter she helped dig.

My heart lurched the moment my gaze dropped to the swell beneath her oversized hoodie.

A bump.

Large and unmistakable.

My stomach twisted. That numbing, soul-puncturing awareness that life had just delivered another gut punch—because not only had he cheated on me...

Charlotte sauntered over, arms cradling her belly, face smug, oily with triumph.

"Oh, you owe us more than you could ever believe," she said again, slow and syrupy.

My lips parted, but nothing came out.

"I tried to call," she added with mock sadness. "You blocked me. Again. That really hurt, you know? But I guess grief does that to people. Or was it guilt?"

My voice scraped its way up from my throat.

"What... is that?"

I already knew the answer, but I needed the confirmation. Like needing to touch a wound to believe it's real.

She beamed.

"This?"

She rubbed the bump like it was a talisman.

"This is Caesar's baby."

I think I forgot how to breathe. The promise ring on my finger started to go numb.

"Yup," she continued, smiling like a child showing off a prize.

"Your darling Caesar. The one you exposed me to. The one you vouched for. The one who ran the moment he found out I was pregnant."

Her face turned brittle.

"Left me to rot. Just like that. But now you have money, and you think you can go scot-free without taking responsibility?"