Chapter 2 "She Needs Me"

Anna's POV:

I stood frozen outside room 437, my hand gripping the doorframe.

Claire suddenly spoke up, pulling me back to reality.

"Blakey, my shoulder hurts. Could you help me adjust the pillow?" Claire's voice was soft.

Blake reached behind her, his movements careful as he rearranged the pillows. They exchanged whispers I couldn't quite catch, followed by light laughter. The sound of Blake's genuine laugh—something so rare in our home—felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

"You always know exactly how to make me comfortable," Claire said, her blue eyes gazing up at him with undisguised adoration.

Blake's typically stern expression softened a bit. "Just rest. I'll take care of everything."

I bit my lip hard, tasting blood as I watched the man I'd loved for twenty years show this woman a tenderness he'd never once directed at me. Even when we were first married, Blake had maintained a certain distance—polite, respectful, but never truly warm. Not like this.

Is this what happens every time he's "working late"? I wondered, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.

Blake's phone rang, interrupting their moment. He glanced at the screen with a frown.

"I need to take this. It's work," he said, standing reluctantly.

Claire pouted slightly. "Don't be long."

"I'll be right back," Blake promised. "Press the call button if you need anything."

As Blake walked out of the room and headed down the hallway, I quickly composed myself. This was my chance. I smoothed my dress, took a deep breath, and walked into the room as if I'd just arrived.

"Claire, I heard you were in the hospital. How are you feeling?" I managed to sound genuinely concerned.

Claire's eyes widened slightly. "Anna! Blake didn't mention you were coming."

Of course he didn't.

"I was worried about you. Is there anything I can do?" I moved closer to her bed, my eyes scanning the room. Evidence. I needed evidence.

Claire shifted against her pillows, wincing slightly. "That's sweet of you."

She gestured to a collection of items on the bedside table—fresh flowers, magazines, a box of expensive chocolates, and what looked like a cashmere blanket. "Blake brought these for me. He's been really attentive."

"I'm sure he has," I said, keeping my voice neutral.

"He stayed late last night. The doctors couldn't make him leave," Claire continued, a small smile playing on her lips.

I remembered my bout of flu last winter. Blake had simply instructed his driver to take me home and asked Martha to check on me periodically. He himself had stayed at the office, claiming an important merger couldn't wait.

Claire reached for her phone on the side table. "We took some photos last night when I couldn't sleep."

She turned the screen toward me. The photo showed Claire and Blake, heads close together, both smiling. Despite being in a hospital bed, Claire looked surprisingly vibrant, her cheeks flushed.

Each picture felt like a fresh wound, but I maintained my composure.

Seeing that I didn't respond, Claire wrapped her arm around mine and pouted, "Anna, you're even colder than Blakey! Just look at his messages to me—they're never more than five words."

She then opened her messaging app.

I glimpsed the screen, seeing Blake's name at the top of her conversation list. Recent messages read: "Did you take your meds?" and "Running late. I'll bring dinner."

Seeing those messages brimming with care made my heart ache a little more. My own text exchanges with Blake were mostly one-sided—my messages often went unread for hours, and when he did reply, it was usually just a brief "OK" or something equally short.

I was so absorbed in scanning the messages that I almost missed the sound of footsteps approaching. I looked up just as Blake appeared in the doorway, his expression darkening when he saw me.

"Anna, what are you doing here?" His voice was sharp, controlled.

Claire brightened immediately. "Blakey! You're back."

I nearly dropped the phone, handing it back to Claire with slightly trembling fingers.

Before I could respond, Blake strode forward, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me toward the door. "Excuse us for a moment, Claire."

He dragged me into the hallway, his grip painfully tight as I stumbled to keep up. Once we were out of earshot, he released me with a small shove.

"What are you doing here?" His blue eyes had turned to ice.

I rubbed my wrist where red marks were already forming. "You're hurting me! I was worried about her."

"Worried? Or snooping?" Blake's voice was low, dangerous. "I saw you with her phone."

"Why are you so afraid of me seeing her?" I challenged, my own anger rising to match his. "If there's nothing to hide—"

"Claire has a medical condition. She'll be fine in a few days." He cut me off, glancing back toward the room.

"So this is where you were almost all night?" I couldn't keep the accusation from my voice.

"She's my sister. She needs me." His jaw clenched visibly.

"Step-sister," I corrected. "And she seems to need you more than your wife."

Blake's eyes narrowed. "You're crossing a line, Anna."

I felt tears threatening but refused to let them fall. "No, you crossed it long ago."

Our argument was interrupted by a crash from Claire's room, followed by her panicked voice. "Blakey! Help!"

Blake's head snapped toward the sound. Without hesitation, he turned away from me.

I grabbed his arm desperately. "Blake, we need to finish this conversation!"

"Let go!" He wrenched free with enough force to send me off-balance. "Claire needs help now!"

I stumbled backward, losing my footing entirely. My head slammed against the wall with a sickening thud, and pain exploded across my skull.