I felt trapped between the doctor’s warning and Daniel’s unnervingly calm expression. My mind raced. I tried to keep my voice steady. “About what?”
He tilted his head. “You’ve been acting… secretive. Makes your mother anxious.”
Mother. Always the puppet, never the puppeteer.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just tired.”
His smile sharpened. “Good. Because tired people make mistakes.” He stepped aside, gesturing for me to walk past him. Every instinct screamed to run, but I forced myself forward slowly, praying he couldn’t hear my heartbeat slamming against my ribs.
That night, I didn’t sleep. I kept replaying the hallway conversation. The fear. The secrecy. The doctor’s frantic warnings. At 2:14 a.m., I made my decision. I slipped out of bed, grabbed my bag, and opened my window. If the doctor was wrong, I’d deal with the embarrassment later. If he was right…
As I stepped into the cold backyard, a whisper cut through the dark:
“Going somewhere?”
I froze. Daniel stood near the porch light, arms crossed.
“Emma,” he said quietly, “you know what happens when you lie.”
My lungs tightened. “I’m not lying,” I whispered.
He took a step forward. “Yes, you are. And your doctor has been asking too many questions.”
My blood chilled. So this was about the clinic visit.
Daniel moved toward me, his voice sharp now. “You weren’t supposed to talk to anyone. We agreed.”
“No,” I said, backing up. “YOU agreed.”
He lunged.
I dodged and sprinted. Branches tore at my arms as I ran through the yard toward the neighbor’s fence. I heard his footsteps behind me—heavy, furious. I climbed the fence, slipped, nearly fell, but somehow tumbled over the other side. Lights flipped on in nearby houses. A dog barked. I kept running until my legs gave out at the edge of the street.
A car pulled up fast. For a panic-filled moment I thought it was Daniel—but the driver’s face appeared in the glow of the dashboard.
Dr. Keller.
“Get in,” he said urgently.
I collapsed into the passenger seat. “Why?” I gasped. “What is happening? What does my family want?”
He hesitated, jaw clenched.
“Emma… your stepfather forged your legal records. He’s been controlling your medical access for years. Your test results—your real ones—show something he didn’t want you to know.”
My breath caught. “What?”
Before he could answer, headlights appeared in the rearview mirror—speeding toward us.
Dr. Keller swore.
“Hold on.”
The car behind us accelerated.
And then the chase began.
The tires screeched as Dr. Keller took a sharp turn, the seatbelt biting into my shoulder. My pulse pounded in sync with the revving engine behind us. Daniel was still following—fast and reckless.
“Why is he doing this?” I cried. “What did the tests show?”
Dr. Keller kept his eyes on the road. “Emma, you’ve been having symptoms for months—memory lapses, weakness, tremors. Your blood tests show elevated levels of a toxic sedative. Someone has been dosing you slowly.”
The world tilted. “No… no, that’s insane. Daniel wouldn’t—”
“He already tried to grab you tonight,” Keller said. “Ask yourself who benefits from you being too sick to think clearly.”
My stomach twisted violently. Memories flashed—Daniel insisting on preparing my meals… bringing me tea every night… discouraging me from going out. My mother apologizing for everything, always avoiding conflict.
Suddenly, the car behind us veered closer, trying to force us off the road.
Dr. Keller cursed. “He’s trying to stop us from reaching the police.”
A light drizzle blurred the windshield. Ahead, a red light glowed like a warning. Dr. Keller didn’t slow down. He slammed through the intersection, barely missing a truck. The pursuing car skidded, buying us a few seconds.
We reached an overpass, the city lights glittering below. “Hold on,” he warned.
He swerved sharply onto a ramp and darted into a crowded parking garage. Finally, after weaving through several levels, he killed the headlights and parked behind a concrete pillar.
We sat in suffocating silence.
“Is he gone?” I whispered.
“I think so,” Keller replied, though doubt flickered across his face. “Emma… you need to hear the rest.” He pulled a folder from the glove compartment. “Your lab work shows long-term exposure to benzodiazepine derivatives. Someone was trying to keep you compliant, confused, dependent.”
My throat tightened. “Why me?”
“Because you were about to turn eighteen,” he said softly. “And your biological father left you an inheritance. A substantial one.”
My world shattered in one breath.
Footsteps echoed in the garage.
Dr. Keller’s eyes widened. “Emma—run.”
But before I moved, a door slammed somewhere below us. Another. Closer.
I didn’t know if it was Daniel, security, or a stranger—but I knew one thing clearly:
My life would never be the same after tonight.
And what happened next… well, that’s a part I’m still trying to understand.