Chapter 3: What Lauren Said Next
Lauren's voice came back before her composure did.
"You can't do this." She stepped fully into the room, the door swinging shut behind her.
"Miranda, you cannot do this.
That money — the lake house, the trust — that was always going to be for all of us.
Mom said so.
Dad said so."
"When did they say that?" I asked.
"When you sold the company.
Mom called me that same night.
She said now that you'd had your big success, things would finally be more equal.
Her word.
Equal."
I looked at my mother.
My mother looked at the window.
"Diane." My father touched her arm.
"Say something."
"I was just trying to keep the peace," she said quietly.
"By promising Lauren my money?" I said.
"Without asking me?"
No one answered.
Lauren was still staring at the folder.
My father's jaw was tight.
The monitor beside my bed beeped once, steady and indifferent.
"That was never yours to promise," I said.
"None of it was."
Lauren turned on her heel.
"So what, you're punishing us?
For what — for not dropping everything because you had a car accident?"
The word accident landed differently than she intended.
I watched her realize it the moment it left her mouth.
"A delivery truck ran a red light," I said.
"The ER doctor told me if the impact had been six inches to the left, I wouldn't have made it.
I was alone in that car.
I was alone in this room for four hours.
And you were on video laughing."
"We didn't know—"
"You had my number, Lauren.
You all did."
She crossed her arms.
Something shifted in her face — not guilt, not yet.
More like recalibration.
Like she was trying to find a new angle.
"This is emotional," she said.
"You're in a hospital bed, you're medicated, you're not thinking clearly.
Julian shouldn't have even let you sign anything tonight."
"I was completely clear," I said.
"Julian asked me twice."
"Then we'll contest it."
The room went very still.
My father looked up.
"Lauren—"
"We'll contest it," she said again, louder this time.
"On the grounds that she wasn't competent to make these decisions from a hospital bed, hours after a traumatic accident.
There are lawyers who handle exactly this kind of thing."
My mother finally turned from the window.
"Lauren, stop."
"Why?" Lauren's voice cracked at the edges.
"She just took everything, Mom.
The lake house.
The trust.
Everything you told me would be there."
"I told you things I shouldn't have," my mother said.
And for the first time that night, she sounded something close to ashamed.
Lauren stared at her.
Then she grabbed her bag from the chair near the door.
"Fine," she said.
"Fine.
Let her keep it all.
But when she's alone in ten years and calling people who don't pick up — don't expect me to feel sorry."
She walked out.
The door didn't slam.
That was almost worse.
My father sat down heavily in the chair Lauren had just left.
He put his face in his hands.
My mother stood beside him, one hand on his shoulder, and I watched the two of them arrange themselves the way they always had — together, turned inward, a unit that had never quite had room for a third.
"Dad," I said.
He looked up.
"I needed you today," I said.
"Not the money.
Not the house.
You."
He didn't answer.
But his eyes went red at the edges, and he didn't look away.
That was something.
I wasn't sure yet if it was enough.
Julian stepped back into the room a moment later.
He glanced around — registered that Lauren was gone, registered the silence — and set his briefcase beside the chair without a word.
"I'll have the final paperwork couriered to you by Thursday," he said carefully.
"Unless you'd like to wait."
"Thursday is fine," I said.
He nodded.
Looked once at my parents.
Then he picked up his briefcase and left.
My mother finally moved.
She came to the side of the bed.
She didn't reach for my hand.
She stood close enough that she could have, and didn't.
"Miranda," she said softly.
"I know we got this wrong."
I looked at her.
"But Lauren is saying she'll fight it," I said.
"And you're standing here telling me you got it wrong.
Which one of you do I believe?"
She had no answer for that.
My phone buzzed on the blanket beside me.
I turned it over.
A text from an unknown number.
May you like
Seven words.
*There's something you don't know about Lauren.*
