Chapter 3: Lines Drawn at Home

3

That day, it was a housekeeper who had stayed on shore who heard the news and rushed over with a blanket to take me home.

Martha, our longtime housekeeper, bustled over with the urgency of a mom at a pee-wee soccer game, wrapping me in a faded Detroit Tigers blanket. She fussed over me, cursing the careless rich kids under her breath. "What’s wrong with these rich kids? Next time, I’m bringing a fishing net for the lot of you." Her warmth almost brought the tears I’d been holding back.

When I got back, I learned that Derek had personally escorted my younger sister back and was now with the doctor as she was checked over.

The house smelled like chamomile and antiseptic. My mom hovered by the phone, her face drawn. I could hear Aubrey’s faint sobs from upstairs, and Derek’s deep voice, full of worry, drifting down the staircase.

I waited until nightfall before I finally saw him arrive, late.

As soon as he saw me, Derek didn’t offer a single word of comfort. Instead, he laid into me without restraint.

"Natalie, can’t you get your attitude under control? Aubrey isn’t like you, the family’s golden child. As a half-sister, she’s had it tough enough, and you keep picking on her."

His voice was sharp, his posture rigid. Every word felt like a verdict, like he’d already decided who I was and nothing I said could change it. It was like being scolded by a teacher in front of the whole class. My hands curled into fists, nails biting my palms.

Derek’s eyes were full of disappointment and anger.

"You made a scene and fell into the lake, fine, but you even dragged Aubrey in with you on purpose. You know how to swim, but Aubrey doesn’t. Did you realize you almost killed her?"

Even though I’d already given up on him, his words still sent a chill through my heart.

We’d grown up together, playing as soon as we could walk, our marriage basically set since we were kids.

Memories flashed—racing bikes down Main Street, catching fireflies in mason jars, sitting on the swings behind the Methodist church talking about nothing and everything. It all seemed to mean nothing to him now.

Even if he didn’t want me as his fiancée anymore, after more than ten years of friendship, he shouldn’t be so heartless.

But Derek was just that heartless.

Time and again, he sided with Aubrey and argued with me, making me look bad in front of everyone.

He always hated my pride and stubbornness, thinking Aubrey was the victim, and that I lacked her sweetness and understanding.

Especially after a year ago, when Aubrey supposedly saved him once, he protected her even more fiercely—putting her above all else.

Now, rumors were flying around Silver Hollow that he was dissatisfied with me, his childhood fiancée.

The one he really loved was Aubrey, and I was the villain standing between the lovers.

The gossip spread like wildfire—at the coffee shop, in church pews, at the hair salon. By the next morning, my name was all over the Silver Hollow Facebook group—right between lost dogs and bake sale drama. My own life, picked apart by strangers.

"Derek, it was Aubrey who tripped me, trying to push me into the lake. I only pulled her in with me as I fell."

Suppressing my anger, I looked at him coldly.

He looked at me like he’d just heard a joke, his gaze full of disbelief.

"Aubrey’s the sweetest, most timid person I know. She’s always getting picked on by you. Who would believe such a thing?"

He frowned tightly. "Tomorrow, you need to apologize to Aubrey. She said as long as you apologize, she won’t hold it against you."

He warned me: "You’re going to be my wife. My wife should be like Aubrey—kind and sensible—not stubborn like you. If you keep this up, don’t blame me for ignoring you after we’re married!"

Faced with his stubborn dislike, I was exhausted and didn’t want to explain anymore. My tone was flat: "There’s no way I’ll apologize to her."

Derek seemed angered by my obstinance and left, slamming the door behind him. "Suit yourself. Stay home and recover. Don’t go out and embarrass me again."

The echo of the slamming door rattled in my chest long after he left, like the last word in an argument you can never win.