Page 46 of The Reckoning
Dr. Winters’ mouth opens and closes, for once at a loss for words. Patricia steps forward, smoothly taking control of the situation.
“Dr. Winters misspoke,” she says, her smile as brittle as thin ice. “He meant donors to the research program. Philanthropists who have made this revolutionary treatment possible.”
“Bullshit,” I say before I can stop myself, the word so at odds with Aries’s usual carefully measured speech that both Patricia and the doctor stare at me in shock. Yes, there may be money, but they certainly aren’t giving it to a good cause.
“Excuse me?” Patricia says, her voice dangerously soft.
I backtrack quickly, reminding myself that I’m still playing a role here. “I apologize for my language, but I’m concerned. This all seems very sudden, and Lilian is clearly uncomfortable with the idea.”
“Uncomfortable or not,” Dr. Winters says, having recovered his professional demeanor, “the procedure is necessary for her continued health and well-being. And given her recent lack of attention regarding her medical care, we must insist.”
“You can’t force me,” Lilian says, her voice steady despite the fear I can sense radiating from her. “I’m an adult. I have the right to refuse treatment.”
For the first time since we entered the room, Patricia smiles—a cold, triumphant expression that sends a chill down my spine.
“Actually, my dear,” she says, moving toward the desk and opening a drawer, “that’s not entirely accurate.”
She removes a file folder, opening it with deliberate slowness. “I had hoped we wouldn’t need to resort to this, but given your current…rebelliousness, I see no alternative.”
She extracts a document and holds it out to Lilian, who takes it with visibly trembling hands.
I move closer, reading over her shoulder as the blood drains from her face. It’s a medical power of attorney, giving Patricia complete control over her daughter’s healthcare decisions.
“This can’t be real,” Lilian whispers, her voice hollow with shock. “I never signed this.”
“But you did,” Patricia says, pointing at the signature at the bottom of the page. “Along with all your other paperwork when you turned eighteen. You really should read things more carefully before signing them, darling.”
FOURTEEN
LILIAN
The paper trembles in my hands, the words blurring before my eyes. Medical power of attorney. My mother’s name. My signature. My eighteenth birthday.
I remember that day—the stacks of documents for my trust fund, for my “financial security.” Mother standing over me, manicured nail tapping impatiently on each signature line.Sign here, initial there, don’t worry about the details, darling, that’s what we have lawyers for.
And I trusted her. I signed without reading, without questioning. Like I always have.
“This can’t be legal,” I whisper, the words scraping past the lump in my throat. “I didn’t know what I was signing.”
“But you did sign it,” Mother says, her voice carrying that silky triumph I know too well. “Really, Lilian, you should be more careful with legal documents.”
The betrayal cuts deeper than I expected, even though some part of me has been preparing for this moment since I found those files in the attic. Since I realized that nothing in my life has been what it seemed.
“How could you?” I ask, the question erupting from somewhere raw and wounded inside me. “All these years, allthese treatments, all these medications—was any of it real? Do I even have a heart condition?”
Mother’s expression hardens, the mask of maternal concern slipping to reveal something colder beneath. “Of course you do. Don’t be dramatic.”
“Then why has no one ever told me exactly what’s wrong with me? Why have all my medical records been kept from me? Why?—”
“Lilian.” Aries’s hand settles on my shoulder, a firm, grounding pressure. Not Aries—Arson, I remind myself. Playing Aries. “Let’s not do this now.”
I glance up at him, ready to argue, but something in his expression stops me. A warning, clear as daylight to anyone looking closely enough.
Don’t reveal what we know. Don’t show our hand.
He’s right, of course. This isn’t the time for confrontation, not when we’ve just discovered they have legal power over me. Not when there are “donors” waiting, whatever that means.
I swallow hard, forcing down the anger and betrayal threatening to choke me. “Fine,” I say, handing the document back to Mother with a steadiness I don’t feel. “So you have legal control over my medical decisions. What exactly does that mean for this…procedure tomorrow?”
