The Man Who Stole His Brother’s Name to Destroy Me

Before he—before Nathaniel pretending to be Harold—could give me an answer, a furious shout tore through the room.

“Harold, what do you think you’re doing?!”

I stiffened. Delilah was standing at the doorway, her face pale, her chest rising and falling as if she had run all the way upstairs. Her eyes flicked from his face to mine, then locked on our barely separated lips.

Her expression twisted.

“You disgusting little snake!” she shrieked, rushing forward and shoving me with both hands. I stumbled backward, my spine slamming against the bedframe. “Did you just make a move on my husband?”

My throat closed. I couldn’t even form a sound.

Her finger stabbed toward my face. “So this is your plan? Your husband is dead, your son is gone, and now you’re trying to steal what belongs to me?”

“Honey, it’s not like that,” he said hurriedly, stepping toward her. “I was trying to calm her down. She leaned in first.”

Each word felt like a hammer to my ribs.

This was the man who once shielded me from raised voices, who used to stand between me and the world whenever I was afraid. Now he had thrown me in front of the fire without hesitation.

My chest burned, the air refusing to go in properly, like my lungs had forgotten their job.

Delilah sneered as she closed the distance. Her hand shot into my hair, jerking my head back so hard stars exploded behind my eyes.

“No—he’s my husband!” I blurted out, desperate, foolish hope driving the words from my mouth. Maybe if he saw her hurting me, he’d finally tell the truth.

Instead, Delilah laughed. It wasn’t a sound of humor. It was sharp and ugly.

“You’ve really lost your mind,” she said. “That man is Harold. And he belongs to me.”

The door slammed open again.

Lucinda rushed in, eyes flashing. She used to call me her daughter. She used to hug me when I cried.

Relief surged through me. This time, she would make things right.

“What is going on here?” she demanded.

But before I could answer, she crossed the room in two strides and slapped me hard across the face. My head snapped to the side, my cheek exploding with pain.

“Get a grip,” she said icily. “Your husband is dead. Stop humiliating yourself.”

I swayed, dizzy, barely staying upright.

“Mom, don’t be angry with her,” Nathaniel said softly, wearing Harold’s face like a mask. “She’s grieving. We look alike—it’s natural she’d get confused.”

Confused.

Not wronged. Not hurt. Just confused.

Then he pulled Delilah into his arms. She melted against him like she belonged there, one hand fisting in his shirt. Over his shoulder, she met my gaze and smiled.

Not kindly.

Triumphantly.

Lucinda’s voice cracked like a whip. “Eleanor. Kneel down and apologize.”

I stared at her, stunned. “What did you say?”

“Get on your knees,” she repeated. “You insulted your sister-in-law. Make it right.”

Blood rushed out of my face. “She isn’t my—”

I stopped myself. There was no point. Not a single person in this room was on my side.

Nathaniel looked at me with false concern. “Eleanor, you’ve been through a lot. You shouldn’t act like this. You really need professional help.”

I wanted to scream. I didn’t need therapy. I needed my husband to admit the truth. I needed my friend to stop pretending she hadn’t destroyed my life. I needed just one person to believe me.

“Don’t drag this out,” he said gently. “You’ll upset Delilah. Just apologize so we can move on.”

My lips shook. “I won’t.”

Lucinda’s patience vanished. “Do it. Now.”

The pounding in my ears drowned everything else. My legs trembled until I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. Slowly, painfully, I sank to the floor, the cold seeping into my bones.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Delilah tilted her head, satisfied. “Make sure it never happens again.”

That was when something inside me finally gave way.

They weren’t mistaken. They weren’t confused.

They were working together to crush me.

They left without another glance, his arm tight around her waist.

And I collapsed completely.

I covered my face and cried until my chest felt hollow, until I couldn’t remember what it was like not to hurt.

With shaking fingers, I grabbed my phone and dialed the one number I swore I’d never call again.

When my brother answered, I broke.

“I was wrong,” I sobbed. “I shouldn’t have left home for him. You warned me. He ruined me. Please… please take me back.”

My voice fell apart into something between laughter and despair.

“And if you can’t save me… maybe just end it for me instead.”