4. Delilah
— ? —
Delilah
I wake to the smell of antiseptic and the steady beep of machines.
White sheets. White walls. White ceiling with water stains in the corner that look like a map of somewhere I’ve never been.
Where am I?
The memories come back in fragments. Stella’s scream. The ground rushing up. Lucas’s face, tear-streaked and terrified. The paramedics pulling him away.
I try to move, and pain lances through my leg so sharply that I gasp. Something heavy encases my left leg from mid-thigh to ankle - a cast, I realize dimly. White and solid and impossibly restrictive.
The door opens.
“Oh, hi love! You’re finally awake.”
That voice. Too bright. Too cheerful.
I force my eyes to focus.
Aimie sits in the chair beside my bed, legs crossed, looking fresh as a damn daisy. Her hair is perfectly styled, her makeup subtle but flawless, and she’s holding a magazine like she’s been waiting for me to wake up so they could continue a conversation.
Not Lucas. Not Rosa. Not anyone who actually belongs at my bedside.
Aimie.
“Where’s Lucas?” My voice comes out like gravel, rough and painful.
“Your husband was here all night.” Aimie sets down the magazine and leans forward, her face arranged in an expression of practiced sympathy.
“Stayed right in that chair, actually. He was so worried about you. But he had a really important meeting this morning, and I convinced him to go. You know, trying to fix things.”
“What things?”
“Well, when you fell…” Aimie sighs, the picture of fake sympathy. “A lot of the investors and high-rollers who bet on us lost money.”
She pronounces us with emphasis, her tongue lingering on the word like she’s tasting it. Like she already belongs to the company. Like she’s been part of this for years instead of barely a day.
“Big money,” she continues. “So Lucas has been in damage control mode trying to win them back. You know how it is - the business can’t afford to lose momentum, especially not now.”
My head is spinning. From the pain medication, probably. Or maybe from the sheer audacity of this woman sitting in my hospital room, explaining my husband’s absence like she’s his secretary.
“I brought you soup.” Aimie holds up a container I hadn’t noticed. “From that place in town you like. Lucas mentioned you were a fan.”
She knows my favorite restaurant. She knows my husband’s schedule. She’s sitting in my hospital room like she has every right to be here.
I take the soup because I don’t know what else to do. My hands are shaking as I hold the container, and I can feel her watching me struggle with the lid.
“Here, let me.” She reaches over and opens it for me, her fingers brushing mine. “You need to keep your strength up.”
I force myself to swallow a spoonful. It tastes like nothing. Like ash and obligation.
“I’ve been staying in the guest house at the back of the house,” Aimie says casually, like she’s mentioning the weather.
“The one by the stables. But I’ve been using your kitchen, since the guest house doesn’t have one.
Hope you don’t mind. Oh, and I’ve been watching Allana too.
Such a sweet girl. She misses you, but she’s been very brave. ”
Each sentence lands like a blow.
She’s in my house. Using my kitchen. With my daughter.
“Why are you staying at my house?”
Aimie’s smile widens, and for just a second I see something flicker behind her eyes. Something cold. Something satisfied.
“Well, since you won’t be able to ride for a while, Lucas asked me to substitute for you.
The investors need to see stability, you understand.
Someone who can step in and keep the shows running smoothly.
” She tilts her head, all fake concern. “I had my first training session with Mr. Velez this morning. He’s tough but fair.
I can see why you like working with him. ”
My trainer. She’s training with my trainer.
“Your driver will pick you up, after the final check-up,” Aimie continues, standing and smoothing her jeans like she’s about to leave for a lunch date. “Rest now. You need your strength.”
She pauses at the door, looking back at me with an expression I can’t read.
“Oh, and Delilah? Don’t worry about anything at home. I’ve got it all under control.”
The door clicks shut behind her.
I sit there in the hospital bed, the soup going cold in my hands, and try to make sense of what just happened.
This woman has moved into my house. With my husband. My daughter. She’s doing my job. Training with my trainer. Using my kitchen, eating my food, sleeping under my roof while I lie here with a shattered leg and a head full of questions that no one is answering.
And Lucas let it happen.
No - worse than that. Lucas asked her to do it. He set this up while I was unconscious, made decisions about my life and my family without consulting me, installed another woman in my home like I’m already gone.
I put the soup on the bedside table. I can’t eat anymore. My stomach is churning with something that isn’t hunger.
The pain in my leg is nothing compared to the pain in my chest.
I reach for my phone on the nightstand, but it’s not there. Someone must have taken it. Or maybe I didn’t have it with me when I fell. Either way, I’m trapped here - alone, immobile, unable to call anyone or find out what’s really happening at my own home.
The medication pulls at me, heavy and insistent, dragging me toward sleep I don’t want. I fight it for as long as I can, trying to piece together the fragments of the past day into something that makes sense.
But the darkness wins.
I dream of falling. Of Stella’s scream. Of Lucas’s face, not looking at me from the stands.
And of Aimie, standing in my kitchen and wearing my clothes.
I’ve got it all under control.
The next morning, my driver Louis arrives to take me home.
The drive feels endless. Every bump in the road sends pain shooting through my leg, and I grip the armrest until my knuckles turn white. Louis tries to make small talk - about the weather, about the ranch, about how everyone’s been worried about me - but I can barely respond.
All I can think about is what I’m going to find when I get there.
When the ranch comes into view, I feel something loosen in my chest. The familiar hills, the white fences, the horses grazing in the distance. Home. My home.
Louis opens the door of the car for me and helps me with my crutches.
And when I enter through the main door the first thing I see is Aimie in MY kitchen. Wearing MY shirt. Cooking at MY stove.