“I know.”
“I sat in my car with my keys in my hand and told myself I was respecting your plan.”
“Liam.”
“I should have gone.”
“You don’t know what would have happened.”
“Exactly.”
He turned around.
His eyes were red.
“My whole career is built around acting when something is wrong. I don’t wait for perfect certainty. I don’t ask a bleeding person to produce a six-month report proving why they deserve help.”
“I wasn’t your patient.”
“You’re my sister.”
The words cracked between us.
I flinched.
Liam saw it.
Regret crossed his face immediately.
He sat down again.
“I’m sorry.”
I stared at the blanket.
“No. You’re right.”
“I didn’t say you were wrong.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Maya.”
“I thought if I did everything correctly, he couldn’t change the story.”
My voice sounded thin.
“I thought if I had enough photographs, enough texts, enough statements from doctors, enough money set aside, enough company records, enough everything, then when I left, there would be no version of events where he could make me look irrational.”
