Page 4 of The Wrong Brother

“You don’t have a choice. Plus, you always loved the fields and working in the gardens. There’ll be plenty of trees for you to climb there, but please be careful.”

He sounds casual, like this is just a discussion, but there is a finality in his tone that I know makes it clear this is not up for discussion.

“It’s what’s best for you, sweetheart,” he says. “This crush, this obsession…it has to stop. You need to see this for what it is.”

The words sear through me, leaving me raw and open. I clench my fists, fighting back the scream bubbling up inside me. I can’t stand the way he looks at me, like I’m some naive girl with foolish dreams, like he knows everything, and I know nothing.

“Just… go away,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “If you don’t leave right now, I’ll scream.”

For a moment, he stays where he is, a heavy silence stretching between us. Then he sighs, standing up slowly.

“Alright, Jenny,” he says, his voice quieter, sadder than before.

I hate to hurt him. I hate to be rude, but right now my heart is breaking. He’s sending me away, and who knows if I’ll ever return. He’s talked about moving back to Virginia as well, so what if… what if I never get to see Brett again?

He leaves, closing the door softly behind him, and as soon as he’s gone, I feel the tears well up, hot and unstoppable. I bury my face in the blanket, sobbing as I clutch my pillow, the pain ripping through me like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

He’s right. There’s no hope. There’s no way out of this. Brett will never see me. I’m nothing more than the chauffeur’s daughter, and that will never change. And now that he’s shipping me off, there’s no longer any time to fix this. I imagine the farm, spending my days there, wallowing…and it hurts too much. I make up my mind then. It’s not a sudden thought. Frustration and despair have seeped in over and over again through the years, and the thought has crossed my mind countless times. But maybe now, it’s time to find peace.

Sniffling, I reach for my journal, my hands shaking as I flip it open. I press the pen to the page, but I can barely see through the blur of my tears, my hand trembling as I start to write my suicide note.

Chapter

Four

ZACH

I’m making my way back into the house, planning to speak to the catering staff, when I catch sight of her running down the stairs, clutching something in her hand. Jenny. I watch, hidden in the shadow of the hallway, as she dashes across the entryway, looking pale and frantic, almost as if she’s being chased by her own thoughts. She doesn’t see me, too caught up in whatever dark path she’s set her mind on, and I realize something’s wrong.

She’s holding a piece of crumpled paper in her hand…she’s gripping it like it’s her last lifeline. Her expression is twisted, almost feverish. It’s not curiosity that keeps me watching. There’s something desperate about the way she’s moving, about the determined look on her face, and it pulls me forward without a second thought.

She’s making a beeline for the garage, her steps quickening. I know she doesn’t notice me following her, but I stay close enough to see her shoulders tense, her breaths coming fast. I usually wouldn’t care but given that she’s one to fall out of trees, I’ve trained myself over the years to pay closer attention to her…if only to avoid an unfortunate accident on the estate. I cannot count how many scrapes, injuries, and near-death experiences she’s had, from encounters with wild dogs to incidents at the pool. She has always been so careless, just like a boy. And so, we all look out for her, never assuming she knows what she’s doing, for the estate’s continued peace and tranquility.

She reaches the final turn toward the garage, and then something in her snaps, and she breaks into a full run.

“Jenny,” I call out, my voice low and steady. “Jenny, stop.”

She doesn’t hear me…or pretends not to. Her hand tightens around the letter, her knuckles white, her face drawn. I pick up my pace, sure now that she’s set on something reckless. I reach her just as she whirls around the corner, heading straight toward the cars. She’s too focused, too lost in whatever dramatic exit she’s planned, to see me coming.

Before either of us can react, we collide, her body slamming into mine with a force that sends her stumbling backward. The letter slips from her fingers, fluttering to the floor as she loses her balance, her arms flailing. She reaches out as if to catch herself, but it’s too late. Her head strikes the cold tile with a sharp, sickening crack, and she goes completely still, her eyes fluttering closed.

For a moment, I just stand there, my heart pounding, staring down at her motionless form. Her face, usually so full of thatintense, restless energy, is now quiet, fragile even. A part of me feels an unexpected stab of worry, something I can’t quite brush off. Especially now… that she’s just lying there, small and pale, looking like the child she still is, even if she doesn’t realize it.

I lean down, lifting her gently, cradling her close as I carry her up the stairs and into her room. The paper lies crumpled on the floor, but I ignore it for now. Her head rests against my shoulder, her breathing soft and shallow, as if she’s suspended in some kind of fevered sleep. I try not to think too much as I take her down the hall, just focus on the steady weight of her in my arms.

As I reach her room, I spot her father in the small library corner in their apartment. The place is filled with more books than furniture, and it’s the one place where I know he finds his peace.

When he sees us, though, his face goes ashen, and he rushes over, panic in his eyes.

“Jenny… what happened?” he asks, voice trembling.

“She’ll be all right,” I say, as reassuringly as I can manage. “But you should call a doctor to check her over.”

He nods, hurrying to make the call, his hands shaking slightly as he dials. I settle Jenny onto her bed, brushing a stray lock of auburn hair from her face, my expression softening despite myself.

It’s unsettling, this feeling creeping in, this strange weight in my chest as I look at her lying there, so still. Her father returns, hovering by her side, his worry palpable, and after a little while,the doctor arrives. In the meantime, I read the contents of the letter, and my blood completely runs cold.

The examination is brief, the doctor assures us that she’s only sustained a mild concussion.

---