Angela stood in the hospital hallway, her hands shaking, her chest so tight she could barely breathe. The doctor's words, 'time of death,' kept hammering in her head, each one like a punch to the gut. Carla was gone. Her sister, the one person who'd always been there, was gone. She pressed a trembling hand against the wall, trying to keep herself upright as tears burned her eyes.
Across the hall, Jonathan Rivers stood like a statue, his white dress shirt still crisp, his face blank. No grief, no shock, just that cold, empty stare that made Angela's blood boil. He'd always been like this, distant, absent, leaving Carla to fight her battles alone. And now, with Carla dead, he didn't even have the decency to look like he cared.
Angela's grief twisted into rage. She stormed toward him, her boots slapping the linoleum, and grabbed his collar before he could react, slamming him against the wall. His eyes widened, but he didn't fight back.
