BLOOD CUTS

The drink sat in front of me, untouched. The steam had stopped rising a while ago.

I stared at the coffee window beside me, refusing to look across the table. I couldn’t. Her face made my stomach twist. Just seeing her sitting there felt like swallowing poison.

I listened to the soft jazz playing in the cafe—nothing like the storm between us.

She shifted in her seat again, fingers tearing what was left of the napkin she’d already shredded.

“So… you’re not going to say anything?”

My jaw tensed. I kept my eyes on the glass. “What exactly do you want me to say?”

Silence.

“I needed to tell you something in person,” she said. Her voice was too soft, too rehearsed. “I’m not here to make excuses. I just… I have to say it.”

I finally looked at her. Locked on her. That pathetic face, those nervous fingers pressing the table’s edge like it could anchor her.

“That day… the day Carmel died. I was at the house,” she said.

My arms dropped from where they’d been folded tight across my chest.

“But I left. I was only meant to be gone a few minutes.”

My voice dropped, cold and bitter. “Did... you leave the door open?”

Her throat bobbed hard. “Yes.” Her head dipped like a coward’s.

“I... I didn’t think you'd come back so soon,” she rushed on, voice cracking. “I was just… I came to see Ethan. I didn’t mean to stay. But things—happened.”

Things. God!

I blinked slowly, trying to stay in my body, trying not to come apart.

She looked down at her lap. “When I ran out, I didn’t want anyone to see me. I pulled the door, but I... I didn’t check if it locked. I didn’t even think about it.”

My hands curled into fists under the table.

My head flooded with images, the wet tiles, steam in the hallway. Ethan stepping out of the bathroom, towel at his waist, acting like everything was normal.

That day… I’d thought it was just a random shower in the middle of the day. I didn’t even question it.

That cheating, lying bastard.

Something in me snapped.

I grabbed the mug and hurled it straight at her.

Hot coffee splashed across her face and down her blouse. She gasped, hands flying up, eyes wide.

Gasps rippled around us. Chairs scraped. Someone muttered, “What the hell...?”

I stood, trembling.

“He was a child!” I screamed. “Just five years old. How could you leave him like a toy on a shelf? Victoria... how could you?!"

She wiped her face, blinking furiously, her blouse soaked and clinging to her. “I swear… I didn’t mean...”

“You didn’t mean?” My voice cracked on the edge of fury. “You didn’t mean to let my son die? You didn’t mean to sleep with my husband?”

She flinched like I’d slapped her. “I never wanted to hurt you. I was scared… I’m still scared.”

I stared at her. “Did Ethan know?”

Silence.

And then as quiet as a breath

“Yes.”

I dropped back into my chair.

“I sat in a courtroom, accused like a criminal. And the whole time, he was sitting on the truth.”

My eyes locked on the table. My vision blurred. My chest burned.

“I can’t believe this… I really can’t.”

She didn’t even lift her head.

I tried to breathe, but everything inside me felt full of smoke.

“From when we were young,” I said, voice tight, “I always looked out for you. Covered for you. Even when you didn’t deserve it. You know that, don’t you?”

She nodded through silent tears, her eyes glistening like she was the one who got hurt.

I stood. Snatched my bag so fast the strap nearly tore. My fingers dug into it like I could squeeze all this rage into the leather.

I turned to walk away, but something made me pause.

I looked over my shoulder.

“For what you and Ethan did… you’ll pay double. Either now or later.”

I loosened my grip on the strap. Tightened it again.

'I could take this to court. The judge had said if new evidence came up, they’d reopen the case. I had a confession now. Clear as day.

But how do you testify against someone who once cried into your arms when she was ten? Someone you used to hide your birthday cake for, just to give her the bigger slice later?

Blood was still blood.

And maybe some crimes didn’t need a courtroom. Maybe they judged themselves.'

“Make sure Mom never hears about this.”

I walked out, leaving the bitter coffee, and the woman who used to be my sister.