Chapter 5

At precisely nine o'clock, a knock came at the door.

Charlotte, expecting the maid, got out of bed and opened it, only to find Eric standing there. He was holding a bundle of gauze, iodine, and ointment.

"I know you're upset," he said, "but you have to understand, Emily has always seen me as her brother. There's nothing between us."

Charlotte's gaze lifted to meet his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, she caught a flash of guilt. Calmly, she began gesturing to express her thoughts.

"I believe you," she signed. "But it's unnecessary. I can handle this myself."

She reached for the medicine in his hand, but he didn't let go. They stood there, locked in silent resistance, until a maid came rushing toward them, panting.

"Miss Emily slipped in the bathroom! You need to come quickly!"

Without a moment's hesitation, Eric dropped everything and left, disappearing down the hallway without a backward glance.

Charlotte stood frozen for a second, an inexplicable bitterness welling in her chest. Once upon a time, if she had been the one injured, he would have scolded her while carefully tending to her wounds. Now, he left without so much as a second thought.

But the feeling passed just as quickly as it came. She pushed it aside. No matter how good Eric was—or had once been—he was destined to be someone else's. And truthfully, he hadn't been good to her in a long time.

Later, the maid arrived, looking sheepish and tearful.

"I'm so sorry, Madam," the girl stammered, wringing her hands. "Mr. Lorvis insisted on taking the medicine earlier. I had no choice—"

Charlotte shook her head to reassure her. There was something endearingly genuine about the young maid's guilt.

She typed out: It's fine. Let's get started.

The maid hesitated, then smiled as she finally noticed the words displayed on the screen.

That night, Eric didn't return to their room. Charlotte didn't mind. Instead, she started sorting through her belongings—things accumulated over the years. It didn't take long; there wasn't much.

Her clothes were plain and practical. The few pieces of jewelry and dresses she owned had only ever been worn with his approval.

The gifts she had given him over the years were all collecting dust somewhere, discarded without care. A wind chime she had made by hand, a tie she had painstakingly stitched, a custom ring—none of them had meant anything to him. The most expensive was a watch worth over 15,000 dollars, something that had taken her a full year of scrimping to afford.

But that was her reality. Without the support of a family like the Spencers, and being mute, job opportunities were scarce. When she had finally landed a job as an editor, Eric had forced her to quit, deeming it "undignified." She had lived on the edge of frugality ever since.

Not that it mattered anymore. Soon, she'd be leaving this world altogether. Money and possessions would mean nothing.

With that in mind, she carefully packed up the gifts he had spurned, along with clothes she no longer wore. They were destined for the orphanage. The next morning, she quietly hailed a taxi, her phone dead, and slipped away unnoticed.

At the orphanage, the children swarmed her as soon as she arrived. Their voices chimed in unison, bright and eager.

"Charlotte, you're finally here! We missed you so much!"

One boy, Leslie, clung to her arm, his face glowing with pride. "Charlotte, I've learned all the everyday signs in two weeks! Even the director says I'm really smart!"

Charlotte couldn't help but smile, signing back, "Leslie, you're amazing! So clever."

The day passed in a blur of smiles and chatter. She handed out gifts, one by one, watching their excitement bubble over. The joy on their faces reminded her of a time long past, a time when she had someone who cared for her.

Her thoughts drifted to Meghan Vanderwall, the woman who had raised her in this very orphanage. Sister, mother, protector—Meghan had been all of these and more. Although they were not related by blood, Charlotte had always treated Meghan like a sister.

Nine years ago, Meghan had died in a chain-reaction car crash while rushing to the school after hearing Charlotte had fallen. Meghan was only twenty-five then.

The memory hit Charlotte like a tidal wave. She hadn't even realized she was crying until her vision blurred. She could still see Meghan's bloodied body, and the ache in her chest felt as fresh as it had that day.

Clutching the locket that held Meghan's photo, Charlotte whispered silently in her heart, "Meghan, wait a little longer for me."

That night, under the children's and the orphanage director's insistent pleas, Charlotte stayed at the orphanage. When she finally left the next day, she carried the warmth of their laughter with her.

It wasn't until she borrowed the taxi driver's charger that her phone buzzed back to life. The screen lit up with over 300 missed calls—more than 200 of them from Eric.

The phone rang again almost instantly. It was Brian.

"So, you've finally decided to answer," his voice snapped, dripping with disdain. "Did you know how worried Emily was? And Eric? He's been searching for you everywhere. What's your game, Charlotte? Playing hard to get? Let me tell you something—no matter what you do, Eric will only ever love Emily. You're nothing but a substitute, so stop dreaming of taking her place."