The day Talia’s biological mother abandoned her on the curb like yesterday’s trash, I gripped her cold, trembling fingers and looked up at my mother. “I want her,” I pleaded. “Let her be my sister.” Just like that, my parents became her parents. My bedroom became our bedroom. Whenever she shrank back in fear, I threw the punches for her. Whenever her self-worth crumbled, I stepped aside and handed her everything good that came my way. Years later, when I fell in love with Enoch, the two of them were like oil and water. “Can’t you ever just live your own life?” Enoch would snap, exasperated. “She’s your sister, Sloane, not your daughter.” Talia never backed down either, her voice dripping with passive-aggressive venom: “Sloane and I were doing just fine before you barged into our lives.” Every time they breathed the same air, sparks flew. And every time, I pulled Enoch aside, whispering soft excuses: “She grew up unloved. Just be the bigger person. Give in to her, please.” Eventually, Enoch did. He helped her move apartments. He stepped in to fight her battles. He catered to her every whim with an almost mechanical obedience. I was thrilled. I genuinely believed the two people I loved most in this world had finally found peace. Until Talia turned up pregnant out of wedlock. Frantic with worry, my vision swimming in panic, I cornered her and demanded to know who the father was. Talia only wept, her gaze drifting over my shoulder. Enoch stood in the doorway, his handsome face hollow with guilt. “Sloane… I’m sorry.” Before the ground could fully drop out from beneath me, my mother took my hand, letting out a tired, resigned sigh. “Talia’s had such a hard life,” she murmured. “You’re the older sister, Sloane. Just step aside for her one more time.” My father chimed in effortlessly: “She’s right. You’ve yielded to her your whole life anyway. What’s once more?” I stood frozen. I had yielded, again and again, stepping back inch by inch, until I had surrendered my family, my dignity, and the love of my life. 1 “Since Talia is expecting, let’s sign over the harbor condo to her name so she can rest and carry the baby in peace.” The next morning at the breakfast table, my mother pushed a steaming bowl of nourishing broth toward Talia without so much as glancing up at me. My spoon hovered mid-air, trembling slightly against the porcelain rim. The harbor condo was something I had spent five relentless years saving for. It was the down payment I’d bled over, the home Enoch and I were supposed to move into after our wedding next month. Talia bit her lower lip, glancing up with wide, doe-like eyes. “Mom, don’t… That’s Sloane’s wedding home. How could I take it from her?” “What wedding?” My father slammed his coffee mug onto the glass table. The sharp crack echoed through the dining room. “You’re carrying Enoch’s child. Do you really think they can still walk down the aisle? If word gets out, what’s left of this family’s reputation?” The room fell into a suffocating silence. Enoch sat beside Talia. With practiced ease, he reached over and straightened the collar of her cardigan—a gesture so natural, so tender, it felt like glass grinding against my optic nerve. He turned his gaze toward me, his voice wrapped in that familiar, intoxicating gentleness that had once made me feel like the center of his universe. “Sloane, yesterday was a mistake, and I owe you an apology,” he said softly. “But Talia’s fragile right now. The doctor said she can’t handle any stress. Let her have the condo for now. We can always buy another place later, okay?” I stared at the man sitting across from me. Only three months ago, he had dropped to one knee in a private jewelry boutique, his eyes shining with tears as he slipped an engagement ring onto my finger. He had whispered, “Sloane, I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy.” Now, he sat there, gently asking me to surrender my dream home to the sister who had shattered our relationship. “That’s my house,” I said evenly. My voice didn’t shake; it sounded eerily calm, even to my own ears. “I paid the down payment. I pay the mortgage every single month. Who gave any of you the right to give it away?” Talia’s eyes welled with tears in an instant. She wrung her fingers in her lap, huge, glistening droplets spilling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Sloane. I know you hate me,” she sobbed. “That night… we were both drunk. Enoch just mistook me for you. If it makes you feel better, I’ll go to the clinic right now and get rid of the baby. I swear I won’t ruin your life.” She made a show of pushing back her chair, rising to her feet. Enoch’s face tightened. He caught her by the shoulder, pressing her back down. “Stop talking nonsense! Your body is already weak. The doctor warned that if you terminate this pregnancy, you might never be able to conceive again.” My mother’s eyes instantly reddened with sympathy. She rushed over, wrapping Talia in a protective embrace before turning on me, her expression thick with disgust. “Sloane, how did you turn out so cold-blooded?” she hissed. “Talia has suffered since the day she was born. Are you really going to push your own sister to the brink of death before you’re satisfied?” My father pointed a trembling finger at my face. “That condo is going to Talia. If you’re really so petty about the money, I’ll wire you the down payment tomorrow. Consider it the price of cutting ties with such a selfish daughter.” A sharp, familiar cramp seized my stomach. I pressed a hand against my abdomen, watching the tight-knit family unit before me. Three united figures—and the man who had once sworn to protect me from the world. Enoch stood up and stepped toward me. He reached out to cup my cheek, but I turned my head away, letting his hand hang awkwardly in the air. A flicker of irritation crossed his eyes. “Sloane, stop acting out,” he murmured, his tone laced with mild reproach. “We messed up, yes. But it happened, and we have to handle it like adults. You’ve always been the sensible one, the mature one. Just swallow your pride for your parents’ sake this once.” I looked straight into Enoch’s eyes. He was always brilliant at this—using the gentlest inflection to drive a blade directly into the softest part of my chest. No real remorse, only the quiet entitlement of a man who assumed he could manage me. To him, I was made of iron. Indestructible. Someone who never needed comfort because I never broke down. I pulled my gaze away, scraped my chair back, and stood up. “Fine.” Meeting my mother’s startled eyes, I offered a cold, dead smile. “Three hundred and fifty thousand for the down payment, plus the last two years of mortgage installments. Wire it to my account. The moment it clears, I’ll sign over the deed.” Talia’s weeping hitched in her throat. Enoch’s brow furrowed, his gaze darkening with disapproval. “Sloane, do we really have to drag money into this? It cheapens everything we were.” I grabbed my trench coat from the entryway rack, not bothering to look back. “There is no “we” left to cheapen.” The moment I pushed the heavy front door open, the autumn wind whipped dry leaves across the porch, bitingly cold. I wrapped the coat tightly around myself and walked down the steps into the gray morning. Behind me, Talia’s muffled sniffling drifted through the door, followed by Enoch’s hushed, soothing murmur: “Don’t cry, sweetheart. Think of the baby.” 2 The money landed in my account by early afternoon. Attached to the wire transfer memo was a single, curt message from my mother: “Take care of yourself.” I stared at the glowing screen of my phone until my eyes burned, then clicked the screen off. That transfer was the final settlement. A clean buyout of twenty-five years of shared blood and childhood memories. By three o’clock, the chronic ache in my gut had flared into a dull, unrelenting fire, forcing me to visit the outpatient clinic for a prescription refill. The elevator doors slid open on the third floor—the obstetrics and gynecology wing—and I immediately spotted two familiar silhouettes near the end of the corridor. Enoch was carrying a pastel pink insulated mug, shielding Talia with an arm around her waist as they emerged from the ultrasound suite. He had his head tilted down, whispering something that made Talia playfully swat his chest. They moved together with the effortless rhythm of newlyweds. I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead, heading toward gastroenterology, but the young nurse at the intake desk had sharp eyes. “Ms. Sloane Kendrick! Your lab results are ready. Make sure Dr. Matthews reviews them before you leave!” Enoch froze. He turned around, his eyes locking onto my blank face. A flash of panic flickered across his features, and his arm dropped instinctively from Talia’s waist. “Sloane? What are you doing at the hospital?” He closed the distance between us in long strides, his gaze darting to where my hand pressed against my stomach. His brow pinched. “Is your gastritis acting up again? Why didn’t you call me?” I took a deliberate step back from his reaching hand. “We broke up, Enoch,” I said, my tone flat. “My health is none of your business.” His expression hardened. Talia caught up to him, casually looping her arm through his elbow. She looked at me with wide, innocent concern. “Sloane, if you’re unwell, you really shouldn’t be wandering around alone,” she said softly. “Enoch wanted to check on you, but today was my first prenatal screening. The clinic insists on having a partner present.” She rested a delicate hand on her flat belly, a shy smile touching her lips. “He was just worried about the baby.” Passing patients and nurses began to slow their pace, glancing our way. A couple of staff members whispered behind their clipboards. Just then, Dr. Matthews stepped out of his office with a coffee mug in hand. A longtime friend of Enoch’s mother, he was a physician who had watched us grow up. Dr. Matthews adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, his gaze drifting from Enoch to Talia’s clinging grip on his arm. “Enoch? Who is this young lady?” Enoch’s face went rigid. He tried to tug his arm free, but Talia held on tight. “Good afternoon, Dr. Matthews,” Talia chimed in, clear and bright. “I’m Enoch’s girlfriend. We’re here for my first ultrasound.” Dr. Matthews blinked, visibly stunned, before turning to me. “Sloane… wait. Aren’t you two getting married next month?” I met the doctor’s bewildered gaze with absolute calm. “The wedding is off, Dr. Matthews. Their wedding is next month.” The hallway went dead silent. The murmurs around us grew louder, sharper. Humiliation flared in Enoch’s eyes. He finally wrenched his arm from Talia’s grip, his voice tight. “Dr. Matthews, it’s not what it looks like. I’ll stop by your office later to explain.” He turned back to me, the edge of frustration in his voice unmasked. “Sloane, do you really have to create a scene in public? Talia is young and doesn’t know any better, but are you trying to embarrass everyone?” A dry, humorless laugh nearly escaped my throat. It was always the same script. Whenever Talia caused a disaster, it was brushed off as youthful innocence. But when I was left bleeding on the floor, I was expected to be gracious, dignified, and silent. “Enoch,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous chill. “You cheated. She got pregnant. You’re the ones who threw away your dignity. I’m simply stating the truth. How is that making a scene?” Enoch’s face shifted through shades of gray and crimson. He stared at me as if looking at a stranger. Talia’s eyes brimmed over instantly. “Sloane, blame me if you want, but don’t take it out on Enoch. It was all my fault.” She clutched her stomach, swaying dramatically as she leaned heavily into Enoch’s chest. Enoch caught her on reflex, alarm wiping away his anger. “Talia! What’s wrong? Are you dizzy?” I watched the cheap theatrics unfold without a flicker of emotion, then turned on my heel and walked into Dr. Matthews’s consultation room. Just before the heavy door clicked shut, Enoch’s suppressed growl reached my ears: “Sloane, you don’t have an ounce of kindness left in you.” I didn’t turn back. The latch engaged, cutting off the noise outside. Dr. Matthews sighed heavily, handing me the printout of my labs. “Sloane, your stomach lining is severely inflamed, and your stress levels are off the charts. You’re showing clear signs of moderate clinical depression.” He looked at me with genuine sorrow. “Take some advice from an old family friend: get out of this city. Leave this environment behind and breathe.” My fingers gripped the edge of the paper until my knuckles turned white. “I know, Dr. Matthews,” I whispered. “I’m leaving. Very soon.” 3 Leaving the clinic, my phone buzzed with an incoming call from a bridal salon downtown. It was the boutique handling the custom couture gown I had commissioned from a Parisian atelier six months ago. Over a thousand hours of hand-embroidery, flown in on a red-eye flight that morning. “Ms. Kendrick, your gown has arrived. When would you like to come in for your final fitting?” I held the phone to my ear, the city noise swirling around me. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I replied. I intended to settle the remaining balance and instruct them to destroy the gown—a final burning of the teenage dreams I had carried for far too long. Yet, when I pushed open the frosted glass doors to the private VIP salon, a deeply grotesque sight greeted me. Talia stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling gilded mirror, spinning slowly in the sweeping white silk that was meant for me. Crystals caught the recessed chandelier light, scattering brilliant flecks across the walls. Enoch sat on the plush velvet sofa, hands clasped, watching her with soft, admiring eyes. “Enoch, does it look pretty on me?” Talia asked, gathering the train with delicate fingers, her cheeks flushed. Enoch nodded with an indulgent smile. “Beautiful. You look stunning in anything, Talia. The waist is just a little loose; I’ll have the seamstress take it in an inch or two.” I stood quietly in the arched entryway, observing the domestic tableau until a wave of nausea rose in my throat. The salon manager spotted me first. Her smile vanished, replaced by sheer panic. “M-Ms. Kendrick! You’re here early!” Enoch spun around. A momentary shock registered on his face before he smoothed it over, rising to his feet and stepping forward to block my view of Talia. “Sloane, let me explain,” he began, his voice taking on that smooth, reasonable cadence he always used when asking me to compromise. “Talia mentioned she might never get a proper chance to wear a couture wedding dress, so she wanted to borrow it for a maternity shoot. Just for an hour. I was going to have it professionally cleaned before you saw it.” He looked at me with baffling sincerity. “You’ve always been so generous. You wouldn’t really fight your sister over a dress, would you?” Talia turned slowly toward the mirror, her manicured fingers grazing the intricate beadwork along the bodice. “It really is gorgeous, Sloane,” she purred, looking at my reflection with a triumphant smirk. “Though Enoch did mention you’ve lost so much weight lately that you wouldn’t fill it out properly anyway. It seems to fit my curves much better.” I felt no rage. Only an overwhelming sense of absurdity. It was so ludicrous that arguing felt beneath me. Brushing past Enoch, I walked directly to the counter where the manager stood frozen. “I won’t be paying the remaining balance on this gown,” I said calmly. “And I’m forfeiting the deposit. If this woman likes it so much, you can bill her for the rest.” The manager stared at me, paralyzed, before darting a nervous glance at Enoch. Enoch’s expression turned stormy. He caught my wrist in a vice-like grip, his fingers digging into my bone. “Sloane, have you lost your mind?” he hissed. “I’ve humbled myself to explain this to you. What more do you want? It’s just a piece of fabric! Do you really have to humiliate me in front of strangers?” I looked down at the hand clamped around my wrist. This was the same hand that had once tucked warm gloves into my pockets on freezing winter mornings. Now, it was only a tool of intimidation and control. “Let go,” I said, my tone razor-thin. He didn’t release me; he tightened his grip. “What are you even throwing a fit over? I told you, it’s just for photos! Do you have to make everything impossible for everyone?” I ripped my hand free with all the force in my body and brought my palm across his cheek. The slap cracked through the quiet salon like a gunshot. Enoch’s head jerked to the side, a bright red handprint blooming across his pale skin. He turned back slowly, his eyes wide with stunned disbelief. Talia let out a sharp gasp, hitching up the voluminous silk train as she rushed forward, throwing herself against him and cupping his cheek. “Sloane, are you crazy? How dare you hit him!” I pulled a tissue from my pocket, wiped down the fingers that had made contact with his skin, and tossed it into the nearest wastebasket. “Enoch, do you not understand plain English?” I looked at him, feeling nothing but a profound, draining exhaustion. “We are done. My possessions—whether it’s a man or a dress—become trash the second someone else puts their hands on them.” I gave them both one last, hollow look. “Enjoy your fitting. I’m done playing audience.” The moment I stepped out of the boutique into the crisp afternoon air, a chime sounded from my phone. It was an email from the corporate headquarters in Munich. Two months ago, I had quietly applied for a three-year executive transfer to the European division. “Dear Ms. Kendrick, Congratulations. Your transfer request has been officially approved. Please confirm your acceptance by this Friday. Please note that once confirmed, the three-year international placement is non-negotiable and cannot be reversed.” Today was Thursday. Without a second thought, I tapped “Reply”. “I accept.” Looking out at the gridlocked avenue, watching the headlights blur into long ribbons of red and white, I realized something liberating: There was nothing left in this city worth staying for. 4 Today was my thirtieth birthday. In past years, Enoch would start orchestrating the celebration weeks in advance. He’d reserve a private dining room at my favorite French bistro, order hundreds of dark red roses, and my parents would clear their calendars just to raise a glass to me. Today, my phone lay on the counter, silent as a paperweight. It wasn’t until eight in the evening that my father finally called. The second I picked up, the background noise exploded with laughter and clinking glasses. “Sloane, we’re celebrating Talia crossing her first trimester tonight,” my father announced, his voice carrying the effortless authority of a patriarch who never expected pushback. “Get over here and cook dinner. Talia’s appetite has been terrible lately, and she’s craving those glazed ribs you make.” I looked down at the bowl of plain broth noodles sitting half-eaten on my kitchen island. “I’m busy,” I replied. A brief beat of silence fell over the line. Then my mother’s shrill voice snatched the phone: “What could you possibly be busy with? You’re just sitting around throwing a tantrum! Is cooking a simple meal for your sister going to kill you? Who are you putting on this sour face for? If anything happens to Talia’s baby because of your attitude, I swear to God, Sloane, you’ll answer to me!” I held the phone slightly away from my ear, listening to the barrage of indignation. A tight band squeezed around my ribcage, making it hard to draw air. In their eyes, an illegitimate pregnancy conceived in betrayal was worth celebrating with champagne, while their own flesh and blood was reduced to an on-call maid. Enoch’s voice floated through the receiver in the background. “Leave her be, Mrs. Kendrick. Sloane is probably still upset. I’ll just have a five-star restaurant deliver a full spread. Let’s not stress Talia.” Talia’s sweet, breathy voice followed immediately: “You’re the best, Enoch. As long as you’re with me, I don’t care what we eat.” I pressed the red end-call button. Without hesitating, I blocked all three numbers. The apartment settled into absolute, graveyard silence. I stood up, walked into the master bedroom, and pulled a single black hard-shell suitcase from beneath the bed. Inside were a few changes of clothes, essential toiletries, and my legal documents. As for the designer bags, the fine jewelry Enoch had bought me over the years, and the accumulated remnants of a life built on sand—I left them where they lay. At ten o’clock, I wheeled my suitcase out of the building. The late-autumn chill cut straight through my wool coat. At the corner convenience store, I stopped in to grab a bottle of water. The young clerk behind the counter recognized me and smiled warmly. “Working late again, Ms. Kendrick? Off on a business trip? Mr. Lockwood didn’t come to drive you?” I paused, looking at her bright, uncomplicated smile, then shook my head gently. “Not a business trip,” I said. “I’m just leaving.” She didn’t catch the finality in my voice and gave an enthusiastic wave. “Well, safe travels then!” “Thank you,” I murmured, stepping back out into the night. In my pocket, my phone vibrated once. It was a text from Enoch via an unblocked messaging app: “Sloane, everyone was on edge tonight. Don’t take it to heart. I’ll make time tomorrow to take you shopping for that new leather tote you wanted. Let’s call it even, okay?” He truly never changed. A slap across the face, followed by a handful of sugar. He believed that with enough condescending charm, I would always come crawling back like an obedient pet. I didn’t reply. I tapped “Delete Contact”. When the confirmation pop-up appeared, my thumb didn’t waver for a fraction of a second. By the time the midnight bells tolled across the city skyline, I was standing at the international security checkpoint. The gate announcements for the direct flight to Munich echoed softly through the terminal. The gate agent took my passport and boarding pass, stamped the slip, and handed it back with a polite nod. “All set, Ms. Kendrick. Have a wonderful flight.” I took the boarding pass, turning my head to look through the floor-to-ceiling glass at the sprawling city lights below. “Thank you,” I whispered to the empty air. “I’m never coming back.”
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “569306”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel
Leave a Reply