Kasie leaned against the wall of the upstairs hallway, her arm throbbing where the needle had been. The house was quiet, but the silence felt heavy, like the air before a storm. She just wanted to crawl into the storage closet and close the door.

She didn't make it.

Jefferson stepped out of his room, blocking her path. He was still in his police uniform, the heavy utility belt creaking as he moved. His face was red, a vein pulsing in his temple.

"What did you say to her?" he demanded, stepping closer. "Calista has been crying in her room since we got back."

Kasie closed her eyes, too tired to fight. "I didn't say anything, Jefferson."

The door to Calista's room cracked open. Her voice drifted out, thick with tears. "Jeff, please. Don't be mad at her. It's my fault. I shouldn't have asked..."

That was all it took. Jefferson's face twisted with rage. He grabbed Kasie by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her collarbones. "You cold-hearted bitch! She's sick because of you, and you can't even be decent to her?"

"Get off me!" Kasie shoved at his chest, but he was solid muscle. "You're all blind! She's playing you. She's not sick!"

The words hung in the air, a detonator in the tense hallway.

"Shut your mouth!" Jefferson roared. "Don't you dare talk about her like that!"

He let go of one shoulder and shoved her hard in the chest. It was meant to push her away, to assert dominance. But Kasie was weak. Her legs were unsteady, her fever making her dizzy. The force of the push sent her stumbling backward.

Her heel caught the top step.

Time slowed down. Kasie felt the sickening lurch of gravity taking over. Her arms windmilled, grasping at empty air. She saw Jefferson's eyes widen, a flash of shock cutting through his anger.

Then she was falling.

Her back hit the edge of the third step. The air rushed out of her lungs. She tumbled, a ragdoll bouncing down the wooden stairs. Her head cracked against the banister. Her arm twisted underneath her, a sharp, blinding pain shooting up to her shoulder.

She landed at the bottom in a heap, gasping, the taste of copper filling her mouth. The world was spinning, the edges of her vision turning black.

Jefferson stood at the top of the stairs, frozen. Calista peeked out of her door, her eyes wide, but not with fear. With calculation.

The front door swung open.

Clemence Foreman stepped inside, bringing a gust of cold air with him. He was wearing a charcoal overcoat that cost more than the entire house. In his hand was a shopping bag from a luxury boutique.

He stopped, his gaze falling on Kasie crumpled on the floor. She looked up at him, her vision blurry, her body screaming in agony. She waited for the concern, for the basic human instinct to help.

Upstairs, Calista spoke, her voice trembling. "Clemence! Oh god, she... she just fell! She just threw herself down the stairs!"

Jefferson found his voice. "She slipped. She was yelling and she just slipped."

Clemence looked at Kasie. His blue eyes were devoid of any warmth. They weren't the eyes of a man seeing his injured wife; they were the eyes of a man looking at an insect on the sidewalk.

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Your tricks are getting pathetic, Kasie."

He stepped over her legs, not bothering to crouch down. "Hurting yourself for attention? Did you think breaking your arm would make me look at you?"

He shook his head, a sneer curling his lip. "It's sad, really. You're pathetic."

He walked past her, heading up the stairs. He reached the landing and pulled Calista into his arms, stroking her hair. "I'm here. It's okay. I've got you."

Kasie lay on the cold linoleum, the sound of Clemence's comforting murmurs drifting down the stairs. The pain in her arm was nothing compared to the hollow ache in her chest. She closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek.

She laughed, a broken, silent sound. Nobody was coming. Nobody cared.

The vet Brandan called was a drunk who owed Jerold a favor. He looked at Kasie's arm, grunted, and wrapped it in a cheap plaster cast. He didn't offer painkillers. He didn't even tell her to ice it.

Kasie sat on the living room sofa, the heavy cast resting on a pillow. Upstairs, she could hear Calista and Clemence talking, the occasional burst of laughter cutting through the floorboards. She was a ghost in her own home, haunting the margins.

The doorbell rang.

Brandan lumbered to the door. It was the mailman. He handed over a stack of envelopes and walked away. Brandan flipped through them, tossing bills onto the hallway table.

He stopped. He held a thick, cream-colored envelope. The paper was heavy, expensive. In the top left corner, embossed in gold, was a crest and the words: The Lagrange Institute.

Below the crest, typed in elegant font: Dr. Kasie Chavez.

Kasie's heart leaped. She sat up straight, ignoring the pull in her arm. It was here. The formal offer. The official paperwork. It was real.

"Give it to me," she said, standing up. "Brandan, that's mine."

Brandan held the envelope high, out of her reach. He stared at the name, then at her, his face hardening. "What is this?"

Footsteps on the stairs. Calista and Clemence descended, drawn by the commotion. Calista's eyes landed on the envelope, and for a split second, her mask slipped. Her nostrils flared.

"It's my job offer," Kasie said, her voice rising. "It's from a research institute in Europe. Brandan, please. Just give it to me."

Brandan looked at Clemence. "Hey, Foreman. Listen to this. She says this fancy place wants to hire her."

"Fabricating an offer from an institution of that caliber?" Clemence glanced at the envelope. He didn't even bother to look impressed. "Kasie, your desperation is becoming theatrical. Where did you even find a forger this good? It almost looks real."

"I didn't forge anything!" Kasie shouted, reaching for it. "Look it up! It's the top physics institute in the world!"

Calista stepped forward, her voice soft and pitying. "Kasie, please. I know you're hurting. But lying isn't going to fix anything. Clemence, don't be angry. She's just confused."

The gentle dismissal was worse than a slap. It sealed the verdict. Brandan's face twisted with disgust.

"I've had enough," he growled. "I'm sick of your lies. Sick of your drama."

He gripped the envelope with both hands. Kasie watched in horror as he tore it down the middle. The thick paper ripped with a loud crack.

"No!" she screamed.

He tore it again. And again. He shredded the letter, the contract, her future, into tiny pieces. He threw the confetti into the air. The white scraps fluttered down, landing on Kasie's hair, her shoulders, the dirty carpet.

"We don't need liars in this house," Brandan roared. He gathered the remaining scraps from the floor and stormed toward the front door. He yanked it open and threw the pieces into the large trash bin by the porch.

Kasie didn't think. She moved. She shoved past Brandan, ignoring the pain that shot through her arm as she bumped the doorframe. She ran out onto the porch, the cold air hitting her face.

She fell to her knees in front of the trash bin. It smelled of rotting food and stale beer. She didn't care. She plunged her good hand into the garbage, digging through coffee grounds and eggshells, desperate to find the pieces of her life.