Ninety-Nine Times, Then No More

I woke up a day later. The pain was a sharp, unwelcome reminder that I was still alive. Through the thin wall of my hospital room, I could hear voices. June's voice, whining and petulant.

"Chase, my shoulder hurts so much. And the press won't leave me alone. They're saying I'm faking it for publicity."

There was a long pause. I strained to hear Chase's reply.

"It's just a bruise, June," he finally said, his voice flat and tired.

"A bruise? It was a traumatic experience! I could have been killed!" she sobbed. "I've suffered so much. All those years I was away from you, I was so miserable. I thought about you every single day."

"Then why did you leave without a word?" Chase asked. The question hung in the air, cold and sharp. It was a question I had wanted to ask for five years.

"I had no choice!" she cried. "Elena's family... they threatened me! They said if I didn't leave, they would ruin me. They would ruin you! I did it to protect you, Chase. And it was torture, knowing Elena was here with you, taking my place."

The lies flowed so easily from her lips. She was a master of her craft.

"She wasn't taking your place," Chase said, his voice hard. "She was a substitute. A placeholder. Nothing more."

The words should have hurt. But they didn't. I felt nothing.

June, sensing she was losing him, changed tactics. "I should go. I'm just causing you trouble. I'll leave the country again. It's better this way."

"Don't," he said, his voice soft again. I heard a rustle of fabric, and I could picture it perfectly. Him pulling her into his arms. Her, melting against him, a triumphant little smile on her face.

"It's just... I know how much Elena loves you," June whispered, her voice laced with false sympathy. "Even after everything, she's still your wife."

I heard him hesitate. A slight intake of breath.

"Not for long," I said. My voice was raspy, weak, but it cut through the silence.

The room next door went quiet. A moment later, my own door opened. Chase and June stood there, their faces a picture of shock.

June recovered first. She rushed to my bedside, her eyes wide with fake concern. "Elena! You're awake! Oh, thank God. I was so worried. We were so worried."

She noticed his frown and immediately her expression changed. Her eyes filled with tears. She dropped to her knees beside my bed, a dramatic, theatrical gesture.

"Elena, please," she begged. "Don't divorce Chase. It's all my fault. I'll leave. I'll disappear again. Please, don't let me be the reason you two break up. I couldn't live with myself."

It was a brilliant performance. She was the noble, self-sacrificing victim. I was the cruel, unforgiving wife.

Chase's face hardened. He looked at me with pure disgust. "Look at her, Elena. She's on her knees, begging you. And you just lie there with that cold expression. Have you no heart?"

He pulled June to her feet. "Let's go, June. She's not worth it."

He turned and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. June gave me one last look over her shoulder. A look of pure, triumphant malice.

I lay back against the pillows, the silence of the room pressing in on me. I thought of my mother. She had always told me to be strong, to be kind. But she had also told me not to be a fool. I had been a fool for so long. The thought of her made my chest ache with a fresh wave of grief.

I reached for my phone and dialed my father's number. He was living in Europe for his health, but he picked up on the second ring.

"Elena, darling. Is everything alright?"

"Dad," I said, my voice breaking. "I'm getting a divorce."

There was a pause on the line. I held my breath, waiting for the lecture, the disappointment.

"Good," he said, his voice firm. "It's about time. That boy was never good enough for you. The business means nothing. Your happiness is everything. Come to Europe. Come live with me."

Tears streamed down my face. Tears of relief, of gratitude. "Okay, Dad. I'll come."

"I love you, pumpkin."

"I love you too, Dad."

Before I hung up, a thought struck me. "Dad, one more thing. Did you or Mom ever threaten June? Did you force her to leave the country five years ago?"

"What?" He sounded genuinely confused. "Of course not. Why would we do that? She told your mother she won a scholarship to study music abroad. She packed her bags and left a thank you note. We never heard from her again until she popped up on the internet as a singer."

Another lie. The very foundation of Chase's revenge was a lie.

I sighed. It didn't matter anymore. I was done digging into the past. I just wanted to leave.

A few days later, I was cleared to travel. As I was packing my small bag, my phone rang. It was June.

"Sister," she said, her voice sickly sweet. "Let's meet before you go. There's something I need to tell you. Something Mom said to me, right before she died."

My blood ran cold. I knew it was a trap. I knew she was lying. But the mention of my mother was a bait I couldn't resist.

"Where?" I asked, my voice hollow.

She named a quiet, expensive cafe. I knew it was a mistake, but I went anyway. I had to know.

She was already there, sipping a latte, looking radiant. She didn't look like someone who had just survived a "traumatic experience."

"You're looking well," I said, sitting down.

"Chase has been taking very good care of me," she said, flashing a diamond bracelet on her wrist. "He feels so guilty about what happened. He's been spoiling me rotten."

She prattled on for ten minutes, detailing every gift, every tender moment. I listened without expression. I was immune to her poison now.

"What did my mother say?" I finally asked, cutting her off.

She smiled, a slow, cruel smile. "Oh, that? I lied."

I stared at her.

"She didn't say anything to me," June continued, enjoying my reaction. "Why would she? She always loved you more. The perfect daughter. But it doesn't matter who she loved, does it? Because in the end, I'm the one who has everything. I have Chase. I have the fame. And you? You have nothing."

She leaned forward, her voice a triumphant whisper. "You really are a fool, Elena. You always have been."

Before I could respond, there was a commotion at the front of the cafe. A man burst in, his face contorted with rage. He was holding a glass bottle filled with a clear, fuming liquid.

"June Carrillo!" he screamed. "You ruined my life! Now I'm going to ruin your pretty little face!"