As the paramedics loaded my stretcher into the ambulance, I caught one last glimpse of the botanical garden, that pastel nightmare now stained with blood and shattered glass. The guests, in shock, whispered. My parents huddled together, their faces ashen. And Cassie, pushed into the back of a police car, her perfect day shattered as brutally as that pyramid of champagne.
Dr. Kingsley got into the ambulance with me, still wearing her blood-stained cream pantsuit.
« I’m coming with you, » she said in a tone that brooked no argument. « We’ll make sure you’re okay, and then we’ll see that justice is served. »
The ambulance doors closed and we drove off to the sound of sirens.
I closed my eyes and exhaled a breath that I couldn’t even control.
She was no longer untouchable.
Two days after the engagement party, I was lying in a private recovery room at Charleston County General Hospital, a concussion bracelet around my wrist and about thirty stitches. The imaging tests were reassuring: no new spinal injuries, thank goodness. Only soft tissue damage and a head injury.
Dr. Kingsley had used his influence to get me a private room, refusing to have me placed in a common room where journalists could find me.
Yes, there were journalists there.
The article « A young woman from an aristocratic background attacks her disabled sister at her engagement party » made the front page of local newspapers.
Someone had filmed the whole scene with their phone. The video was shaky and cut out just before I touched the champagne pyramid, but you could clearly see Cassie grabbing me and pulling me away. The news channels blurred my face, but not Cassie’s. Her meltdown, her arrest, her torn dress—it was all filmed in high definition and shared thousands of times.
This story had everything going for it: wealth, family drama, a disabled victim and a villain in an evening gown.
The internet was buzzing.
I should have felt avenged. Triumphant. Something.
I was mostly tired.
The hospital room door opened, and I expected to see a nurse. Instead, Greg walked in, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His suit was wrinkled, his hair was a mess, and he had that haunted look you get when your whole world is collapsing.
« Matilda? » he said in a hoarse voice. « I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I swear to God, I didn’t know. »
I believed him. Greg had many qualities, but he wasn’t good at lying. If he had known the truth about Cassie, about the accident, about anything else, it would have shown on his face every time he looked at me.
« She told me you were drunk, » he continued, pulling a chair closer to the bed. « That you hit a tree while driving too fast. That you were lucky to have survived. That she tried to stop you from driving, but you wouldn’t listen. »
Her voice broke.
« She said you accused her to avoid taking responsibility. »
The revised history. The sugar-coated version. I had heard it so many times from my parents that I was almost convinced of it myself sometimes.
« I wasn’t drunk, » I said softly. « I don’t drink. I’ve never drunk. Ballet dancers don’t drink. »
« I know that now, » said Greg. « I know a lot of things now. »
The door opened again, and this time it was Dr. Kingsley, carrying a brown paper folder. She had changed out of her ripped pantsuit into clean clothes, but she still looked ready for a fight.
« Greg, » she said, nodding to her nephew. « Good. There you are. Matilda, I have something to show you both. »
She opened the file and took out several pages. Medical records, I understood. Those from my initial operation, 24 months ago.
“Doctor,” Kingsley began clinically, as if presenting evidence. “I performed an emergency spinal fusion on Matilda Wells. She was brought in by ambulance after a car accident. The vehicle, a Jeep Wrangler, hit a tree at approximately 65 km/h.”
She handed a page to Greg.
« Here is the toxicology report. It indicates Matilda’s blood alcohol level at the time of the accident. »
Greg read the text, his eyes wide.
« 0.0. Completely sober. »
« The police report indicates that the driver, Cassandra Wells, was texting while driving. She lost control of her vehicle on a curve. »
Dr. Kingsley’s expression was carved in ice.
« Matilda was sitting in the passenger seat. She never touched the steering wheel. »
« Wait, » said Greg. « Was Cassie driving? »
“Cassie was driving,” I confirmed. “She was texting her ex. The one before you. They were arguing about whether they were really broken up or just on a break. She kept looking at her phone instead of the road. I told her to pull over, but she said she was handling it.”
The memory was crystal clear, preserved in every detail. The blue glow of the phone screen, Cassie’s thumb tapping frantically, my own voice saying, « Cass, please watch the road. » The brutal impact as the wheels left the asphalt, the tree growing larger and larger in the windshield, and then nothing but the pain, the sirens, and the certainty that my life, as I knew it, was over.
« Why didn’t you tell anyone? » asked Greg, in a barely audible voice.
“I tried,” I said. “As soon as I woke up after the surgery, I told my parents what had happened. They said…” I trailed off, my throat tight. “They said if people knew it was her fault, Cassie’s life would be ruined. They said the insurance company would sue her, she could go to prison, I had to protect my sister. They convinced me to say I was driving, that I lost control.”
« Jesus Christ, » Greg murmured.
“My parents were always overprotective of Cassie,” I continued. “When we were little, it was trivial things: she’d break something, accuse me, and they’d believe her. As we grew up, it got worse. She’d steal money from me, lie to my friends, sabotage my dance auditions by hiding my shoes or giving me the wrong time, but they always found excuses: she was stressed, she didn’t mean to, I was too sensitive.”
Dr. Kingsley slammed the file shut.
« What Cassie did at that engagement party was assault. What your parents did 24 months ago was coercion and insurance fraud. The statute of limitations has not expired for either. »
Greg looked ill.
« I almost married her, » he said. « I almost… » He put his head in his hands. « How could I have been so blind? »
“Narcissists are excellent actors,” said Dr. Kingsley, without malice. “They show you exactly what you want to see, until it’s too late.”
We remained silent for a moment, overwhelmed by the weight of the revelations. I could see Greg reflecting, re-evaluating every moment of his relationship with Cassie through this new lens. He wondered what else she had lied about, who she truly was, beyond appearances.
The door opened suddenly, without knocking or warning. My parents rushed inside like a rogue wave, gesticulating and shouting at the top of their lungs.
« Matilda. » Mom took my hand, squeezing it too tightly. « Oh, thank God, you’re okay. »
Dad sat down at the foot of the bed, looking serious.
« We were so worried that we came as soon as we heard the news. »
They hadn’t come yesterday, they hadn’t called to check on me. But now that Cassie needed something, here they are.
« We need you to do something, » said Mom, her eyes red but dry.
No real tears, I noticed. Just staged crying.
« This is very important. »
That’s it, I told myself.
« Matilda, please withdraw your complaint, » said Dad. « Call the police and say you slipped. Say your sister was just trying to help you up. If you don’t press charges, they’ll let her go. »
There you have it. The request. The demand disguised as a plea.
Mom squeezed my hand again, her grip almost painful.
« She’s your sister, Matilda. Family protects family. You know she didn’t do it on purpose. She was just stressed about the wedding. And you know how you can be. »
« How is that possible? » I repeated in a neutral tone.
« You know what I mean. Difficult. Stubborn. You insisted on bringing that black wheelchair when she had asked everyone to prioritize lightness and beauty. »
« The wheelchair that I need to move, » I said.
« Yes, but you could have made an effort to match the colors, maybe added some ribbons or something. And then, refusing to sit in the chair for the photo when she was just trying to include you. »
I removed my hand from my mother’s embrace.
« She assaulted me. There’s a video. There are witnesses. »
« Witnesses can be mistaken, » Dad said quickly. « It all happened so fast, people see what they want to see. »
This was the moment of feigned defeat. I let my face crumble, I let myself appear weak and overwhelmed. I shook my head wearily, feigning helplessness.
« Mom, Dad, » I said in a weak, tired voice. « It’s not about what I want anymore. The police have the video, the witnesses, the medical examiner’s report. This is a criminal case between the state and Cassie. I’m not a judge. I’m no longer in control of what happens next. »
Technically, that was true. Once the state had filed a complaint for assault, the victim couldn’t simply have the charges dismissed.
But my parents didn’t understand the legal system well enough to know that. They thought everything could be resolved with the right words, the right pressure, the right manipulation.
My parents exchanged a glance, and I understood they were thinking. They thought I was powerless, that the problem concerned only the witnesses and the law, and not my will. They believed they had found a loophole.
« We understand, » said Mom, patting my arm with forced compassion. « You’re tired. You’ve suffered so much. We’re going to let you rest. »
They left without asking how I was, without apologizing for what Cassie had done, without acknowledging that their beloved daughter had publicly assaulted their other daughter at an engagement party.
Greg, who had remained silent throughout the visit, stared at the closed door.
« Are they serious? » he asked. « They want you to lie for her? After everything that’s happened? »
« They always want me to lie for her, » I simply said.
Dr. Kingsley, who had remained silent until then, approached the window. She took out her phone and made a call.
« Richard? Helena Kingsley. I need you to do something for me. There’s a witness in an assault case, the engagement party incident you heard about. Yes, that one. I’m asking you to make sure he knows his rights and protections. Someone might be able to try to persuade him to change his statement. »
She hung up and turned back towards us.
« Richard is my lawyer. He will make sure that our witness understands what witness tampering is and how to report it if someone tries to do it. »
« Do you think they’ll try? » asked Greg.
« I know they will, » I said. « They’re desperate. Cassie is facing serious accusations. »
« How bad is it? » asked Greg.
Dr. Kingsley opened something on his phone.
« Assault resulting in bodily harm to a disabled person constitutes an aggravating circumstance. Given the video evidence, witness statements, and Matilda’s injuries, the prosecutor is suggesting a sentence of up to 10 years in prison. »
Greg turned pale.
« 10 years? »
« She pushed a paraplegic woman against a glass tower, » Dr. Kingsley said coldly. « She could have killed her. She could have completely severed Matilda’s spinal cord. Ten years is an appropriate sentence. »
A heavy silence settled in the room. I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of exhaustion wash over me. The painkillers I had been given were beginning to relax me.
« Rest, » said Dr. Kingsley gently. « I will see to it that no one disturbs you tonight. »
I fell asleep and, for the first time in two years, I didn’t dream about the accident.
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of muffled voices outside my door. I recognized my father’s tone—aggressive, authoritarian—and a calmer voice answering him. I couldn’t make out the words, but after a few minutes, Dad’s voice faded away.
Greg appeared in the doorway, looking somber.
« Your parents were there, » he said. « The security guard escorted them out. Dr. Kingsley had given instructions stating that only authorized visitors could enter. »
« What did they want? »
« To talk to me, » said Greg. He pulled up a chair and sat down heavily. « Matilda. They asked me to do something unacceptable. »
I waited.
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