Chapter 6 Shocked moment
Hannah
I woke up to my name trending. Again.
Not the nice kind, of course. Not the kind that came with congratulations or soft curiosity. My phone buzzed relentlessly on the nightstand, vibrating like a trapped insect, lighting up the dark room in flashes of accusation.
HOMEWRECKER.
GOLD DIGGER.
DESPERATE SISTER.
ENGAGED TO HER SISTER’S MAN.
I stared at the screen until the words blurred, until they stopped looking like language and started looking like bruises. Somewhere downstairs, voices murmured. Doors opened and closed. Phones rang. The house was alive with urgency, with movement but not for me.
I was already hidden.
They’d moved me into the east wing before sunrise. No explanation. No warning. Just my mother standing at my bedroom door, eyes flat, telling me to pack a small bag. “It’s for the best,” she’d said, like she was talking about storing away an old coat.
The east wing was quiet. Too quiet. White walls. Tall windows that let in light but no warmth. A bed that wasn’t mine. A bathroom stocked with brand-new toiletries, untouched and sterile, like I was a guest who overstayed her welcome before even arriving.
Breakfast came on a tray. I didn’t touch it.
By midmorning, the news outlets had found their rhythm. Photos of Timothy and me, still frames from the video, censored but unmistakable looped endlessly on TV screens I wasn’t supposed to see. Engagement announcement headlines screamed damage control without saying the words. Commentators speculated about my motives, my character, my upbringing. A woman on one panel laughed and said I’d probably planned it all along.
I wondered how someone could sound so sure about a stranger.
I tried to talk to my parents first.
My father didn’t even look up from his tablet when I stood in the doorway of his study. “This isn’t the time,” he said, clipped. “We’re busy.”
“I just want to explain,” I whispered. “I didn’t…”
“There’s nothing to explain,” my mother cut in from behind me. I hadn’t even heard her approach. “You’ve said enough already. Everything you say makes it worse.”
“I didn’t do this on purpose,” I said, my voice cracking despite my efforts. “You know me. You know I wouldn’t…”
She finally looked at me then. Really looked. And whatever she saw made her mouth harden. “What I know,” she said, “is that you’ve humiliated this family beyond repair.”
That was it. No shouting. No tears. Just a verdict.
I tried Loretta next.
She was in her room, door open, suitcase on the bed. She didn’t look up when I knocked. I stood there for a full minute before speaking, my heart pounding like it was trying to escape my ribs.
“Loretta,” I said softly. “Please. Just let me talk.”
She zipped the suitcase closed with a sharp, final sound.
“I didn’t remember that night,” I said quickly, words tumbling over each other. “I swear. I would never hurt you like this. I never wanted him. I never wanted your life.”
She laughed then. A short, humorless sound. “You always say that,” she said. “You always act like you’re above it all. Like you’re some tragic victim.”
“Well, I’ve been your victim,” I said before I could stop myself. The word tasted strange in my mouth. Too big. Too exposed.
That made her turn.
Her eyes were bright, furious. “No,” she said. “You’re a parasite. You feed off what isn’t yours and then cry when people notice.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” she snapped. “My work. My boyfriend. My parents’ attention. You always want what I have.”
Indignation rose in me. I tried to tamper it down. “I never stole your work. Instead, you stole my work,” I said, my voice shaking. “You know that.”
She stepped closer, scoffing then lowering her voice. “Whatever. That was years ago. Say whatever helps you sleep at night. But don’t expect me to play sister anymore. I don’t have one.”
She walked past me, shoulder checking mine like an afterthought, and left the room.
That was the last time anyone spoke to me voluntarily that day.
The silent treatment settled in like fog. Thick. Suffocating. Meals appeared and disappeared. Staff avoided eye contact. My phone was taken “for my own good.” Internet access was cut. The world screamed about me while I sat in enforced quiet, left alone with my thoughts.
They were not kind thoughts.
I replayed everything. Every look. Every word. Every moment I might have done something differently. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to that lounge. Maybe I should’ve left earlier. Maybe I should’ve screamed louder, fought harder, been smarter, been better.
Maybe I deserved this.
The shame sank deep, curling in my chest like something alive. I hated my reflection. I hated my body for betraying me, for being there in that footage, proof of a night I couldn’t remember but everyone else could dissect frame by frame.
At night, I lay awake listening to the house breathe. I wondered if Timothy was somewhere on the other side of it, equally trapped or if he was surrounded by people soothing him, reassuring him that this wasn’t his fault.
I wondered if he hated me as much as everyone else did.
On the third day, a stylist arrived.
No one asked my opinion. Dresses were brought in. Fabric swatches. Shoes lined up neatly like soldiers. A woman with too-bright lipstick measured my waist and said, “You’ll photograph well,” as if that was the only thing that mattered.
On the fifth day, my mother finally spoke to me again.
She stood at the foot of my bed, arms crossed, expression businesslike. “The arrangements have been finalized,” she said. “It will be small. Private. Family only. We can’t afford more attention.”
I sat up slowly. My hands were trembling, but I kept them hidden beneath the blanket. “When?” I asked.
She hesitated for half a second. Just enough to make my stomach drop.
“In a week.”
The words echoed, hollow and unreal.
“A week?” I repeated. “That’s impossible. I can’t….people don’t plan weddings in a week.”
“We can,” she said flatly. “And we will.”
My chest tightened. “I don’t even know him,” I said. “We haven’t talked. We haven’t agreed to anything.”
She tilted her head, studying me like a problem she’d already solved. “You don’t need to agree. You just need to show up.”
I opened my mouth to beg. To argue. To scream. But nothing came out.
She turned to leave, then paused at the door. “Try not to embarrass us again,” she said over her shoulder. “You’ve done enough damage already.”
The door slammed behind her and I was left alone.
Well….it seemed like I was getting married.
Whether I liked it or not.