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“Really? Wasn’t it in front of your fucking house she got shot?” Cal retorts.

I pull my good arm through the sleeve, and Celeste carefully navigates the other sleeve around my wounded arm. She pulls my hair out of the neckline and points to the toilet, so she can help me with the jeans.

I strain my ears, but the room behind the door remains silent. Corm is not rebutting. Why? Is he blaming himself for what happened to me? That’s preposterous.

He must feel so alone with that guilt. Losing me and blaming himself.

But I can’t take on the responsibility for that. I don’t have room to deal with his baggage. And yet a part of me wants to own it, wants to lead him out of his misery.

I barely let Celeste button up my jeans, and I burst out of the small bathroom. The walls were closing in on me already.

“It wasn’t your fault!” I glare at Corm. “It wasn’t his fault,” I tell Cal, and turn back to Cormac. “Don’t you dare blame yourself. We can’t change what happened. You didn’t pull the trigger. You didn’t invite Vito into my life. Both of you stop this right now. I have enough chaos in my head at the moment; I don’t need either of you adding to it.”

The silence that follows is filled with raging testosterone, animosity, and remorse, but at least neither of them dares to protest.

“Is there anything else we need to pack? Are we waiting for the doctor?” Celeste redirects our attention.

I’m about to tell her I have my discharge papers already when the door bursts open again.

When I see the two people who decided to join the party, I step back and hate myself for it.

Corm appears at my side. “What the fuck do you want here?”

My father flinches. “Who the fuck are you?”

He asks as if he doesn’t know Cormac Quinn. He might not know my connection to him, but they must have met at functions. Or he must have read about him.

This is just Dad’s typical way of showing people how insignificant they are.

“I’m Saar’s husband, and I respectfully ask you to get the fuck out of here.” Corm’s words seem to slap my father. I never knew how satisfying it would be to see my old man taken aback.

My husband.

My married status terrified me after I woke up without my memories, but right now, right here… I step closer to my husband.

“Oh my, you really got married?” My mother clutches her pearls.

“My daughter got shot; I think I have the right to be here, young man.” Dad regains his composure, glaring at Corm.

Cal moves to stand by Celeste, like she needs physical protection against our father. Or maybe he needs to be protected from her.

“You mean the daughter you disinherited? The daughter you shipped to Europe when she was a teenager? Get the fuck out of here before—”

I put my hand on Corm’s back, and he stops, whipping his head to me. “There is no point,” I whisper.

“Charles, will you let them throw us out?” Mother huffs.

“Of course not. I have the right to be here. And I never disinherited my daughter; she chose to abandon the family and betray me.”

“Well, if I’m such a disappointment, I fail to see why you bothered coming,” I say, getting tired of all the drama this morning keeps bringing.

“It’s time you step up and behave like a van den Linden,” my father retorts.

“What does that even mean?”

“People are still talking about our fallout, and we don’t look good. It’s not the image the name van den Linden deserves.” Mother pretend-sobs, now clutching her necklace with both hands.

“I will give you your trust fund if you help us fix the optics,” my father says.