3. Jade #3
I smile up at him, soft, adoring, absolutely murderous beneath the surface.
Oh, Donald. You sweet, stupid man.
You have no idea who you’re trusting.
***
After he leaves to call his lawyers, I stay in Jade’s bed.
My bed, soon enough.
I stretch out across the mattress, running my fingers over the sheets where my sister has slept for three years, and I think about everything that’s coming.
Jade will be arrested. The evidence I’ve planted is airtight - I’ve been perfecting it for months, layering documentation upon documentation until even I’m almost convinced she’s guilty.
The photos of her with Damian will destroy any sympathy she might have garnered.
A pregnant woman stealing from her husband and carrying on with his brother?
The court of public opinion will crucify her.
Donald will file for divorce. For full custody. And I’ll be right there beside him, the supportive girlfriend, the betrayed sister, the woman who reluctantly came forward to expose the truth.
By the time Jade realizes what’s happening, it will be too late.
I pick up my phone. Text Margot.
Job well done. Bonus incoming.
Then I open my photos and look at my sister one more time. Jade’s face, soft and hopeful, looking at Damian like he might be able to save her.
Nobody’s going to save you, sister dear.
I’ve made sure of that.
I delete the text thread with Margot. Clear my browser history. Remove any trace of the trap I’ve been building for over a year.
Then I walk to the window and look out at the city - at all those glittering lights, all those people living their small, ordinary lives. Somewhere out there, Jade is probably lying awake, worrying about her future, wondering how everything went so wrong.
She has no idea that the worst hasn’t even started yet.
I pour myself a glass of wine from the bottle on Donald’s nightstand - the expensive stuff, the kind Jade always said was too good for a Tuesday - and I raise it to the window.
“To sisterhood,” I whisper.
And I drink.
***
Jade
I’m at my seven-month checkup when they come for me.
Seven months. My belly is round now, obvious, impossible to hide.
The baby kicks constantly - she, they told me at my last ultrasound, a little girl - and I’ve started to let myself hope, just a little bit.
To imagine a future where I’m free, where I’m safe, where I’m raising my daughter on my own terms.
I’m sitting in the waiting room, flipping through a magazine I’m not reading, when I see them.
Two officers. Walking through the entrance. Looking around the room with purpose.
My heart stops.
They’re not here for you. They can’t be here for you. You haven’t done anything.
But they’re walking toward me now. Past the pregnant women, past the crying toddlers, past the receptionist who’s half-standing behind her desk.
“Jade Castillo?”
I can’t speak. Can’t move. Can only stare up at them with the magazine clutched in my frozen hands.
“You’re under arrest for embezzlement and fraud.”
The words don’t make sense. They’re sounds without meaning, syllables that won’t arrange themselves into anything comprehensible.
“There must be a mistake.” My voice sounds far away. “I haven’t - I didn’t-”
“Ma’am, please stand up.”
“I’m pregnant. I’m seven months pregnant, you can’t-”
“Ma’am. Stand up.”
I stand on shaking legs. The magazine falls to the floor. Everyone is staring, the other patients, the nurses, the receptionist with her hand over her mouth.
They cuff me.
In public and pregnant.
The cold metal bites into my wrists, and I think: This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
But it is happening. They’re leading me through the waiting room, past all those horrified faces, out into the parking lot where a squad car is waiting.
And that’s when I see her.
Across the parking lot. Leaning against a sleek black car that probably costs more than my childhood home.
Vivian.
Watching.
Smiling.
Our eyes meet. For one endless second, I see everything, the truth of her, the monster she’s been hiding, the depth of her hatred and her triumph.
And then they push me into the back of the squad car, and my sister disappears from view, and all I can think is:
She did this. She did this. She did this.
***
At the station, they let me make one phone call.
I stand in that cold, gray room, staring at the phone, trying to remember how to breathe.
Who do I call?
Not Donald. Not after what he’s done.
Not Vivian. Never again.
Not my parents - they’d side with Vivian, they always side with Vivian.
There’s only one person. One person who might believe me. Who might help.
I dial Damian’s number with trembling fingers.
It rings once. Twice. Three times.
Then: “The number you have reached is not available. Please leave a message after the tone.”
Voicemail.
No. No, no, no.
“Damian.” My voice breaks. “It’s Jade. I’ve been arrested. They’re saying I - embezzlement, fraud, things I didn’t do. I need help. Please, if you get this, please-”
The line clicks. Time’s up.
I lower the phone, staring at nothing.
Alone.
I’m completely alone.