I did not know what to do. Cry. Speak. Run.
So I stood there clutching my mother’s necklace.
“My name is Claire,” I said.
Theodore’s mouth worked soundlessly.
The nurse placed a clipboard in his lap and curled his fingers around a pen.
He struggled. The pen scratched across the page in uneven lines.
When he was finished, Edmund took the clipboard, read it, and went still.
“What does it say?” I asked.
Edmund did not answer.
I crossed the room and took the page myself.
Four words had been written in shaky, slanted letters.
She has Margaret’s scar.
My blood chilled.
“What scar?”
Theodore raised one trembling finger and pointed at my neck.
I touched the spot beneath my left ear. A small crescent scar, pale and easy to miss. My mother had always told me I fell against a radiator when I was a baby.
Theodore began writing again, harder this time, the pen nearly tearing the paper.
Mrs. Vale made a small sound behind me.
I read the words as they appeared.
Not accident.
Then:
Knife.
The room went silent except for the rain.
I stumbled back.
Edmund caught my arm.
I pulled away.
“You knew.”
His face was pale.
“I knew there was an injury.”
“My mother said radiator.”