Part 2:
When I came to, I was twisted on the landing, my side on fire, shards of the dish I had been carrying scattered around me. Judith stood at the top of the stairs, hand over her mouth, already wearing that familiar expression—shocked, fragile, almost innocent. Graham rushed down, pale and panicked, but the first thing he asked wasn’t what happened.
It was, “Can you sit up?”
Even then, I understood.
This wasn’t about truth.
It was about control.
At the hospital, the nurse asked what had happened. Before I could answer, Graham spoke first.
“She slipped.”
I turned my head slowly. “No,” I said.
His face tightened. “Nora—”
“She pushed me.”
The nurse paused for a second, then continued writing—but everything about her attention changed.
Within minutes, I was in an exam room under harsh lights, trying not to cry as they cut my sweater to check the swelling along my ribs. Bruising had already spread across my side. The doctor, calm and focused, examined me carefully and ordered scans.
Graham hovered nearby, uneasy. “It was just a misunderstanding,
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