My phone vibrated against the polished glass of my granite kitchen counter. Brrr. Brrr. Brrr. The caller ID flashed a name that used to make my stomach tie itself into knots: MOTHER.

I stepped out of the elevator on the 4th floor, my heels clicking against the linoleum. Standing near the nurses' station was my mother. In just a few days, she seemed to have aged twenty years. Her designer clothes were gone, replaced by a faded cardigan and cheap pants.

When she saw me, she rushed forward, reaching out to grab my arms. "Emma! Thank God you came!"

I stepped back, dodging her reach. "What happened, Eleanor?"

"She... she tried to take her own life in holding," my mother sobbed, covering her face with shaking hands. "The police found her in her cell this morning. They rushed her here! She’s stable, but... but she wanted to see you. She said she couldn't go to prison, Emma! She’s your sister!"

I looked at the heavy door of Room 412.

A small voice in the back of my mind warned me. Vanessa had manipulated me my entire life. She had staged dramatic breakdowns whenever she needed money, fake emergencies whenever she wanted attention. Was this real... or was this the final, desperate gamble of a cornered narcissist?

"Stay here," I told my mother coldly.

I pushed the heavy door of Room 412 open and stepped inside.

The room was dim. Heart monitors beeped rhythmically in the corner. Vanessa was lying in the hospital bed, an IV tube connected to her arm, bandages wrapped around her wrists. She looked small, frail, and pale against the white sheets.

As the door clicked shut, Vanessa slowly turned her head toward me.

"Emma..." she whispered, her voice weak and rasping. "You... you actually came."

I stood at the foot of the bed, my arms crossed, watching her with a sharp, calculating eye. "Your mother said you left a note."

Vanessa’s eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry, Emma. I'm so, so sorry for everything. I was jealous of you. Dad always told me you were nothing, but you were so strong. You built everything while I was just... a useless doll. I couldn't face going to prison for ten years. Please... tell the police you forgive me. Tell them not to press charges."

She reached out her hand, weeping softly, looking like a broken child.

It was a masterclass performance. It was heartbreaking, emotional, and deeply moving.

Except for one detail.

I looked at the heart monitor behind her head.

Her heart rate was a steady, perfectly calm 65 beats per minute. A person in genuine emotional distress, weeping and facing a life-ending crisis, does not have a resting heart rate of 65 BPM.

I looked down at her wrist bandages. They were tied neatly over her hospital gown sleeves—not directly on her skin.

A cold, bitter laugh escaped my throat.

Vanessa’s crying stopped instantly. Her tear-streaked face tightened. "What's so funny?!"

"You really never change, do you Vanessa?" I said, taking a step closer to the bed. "A fake suicide attempt? Wrapping bandages over your sleeves before calling the guards? You thought if you acted like a victim, I’d drop the criminal conspiracy charges out of guilt."

Vanessa’s weak, fragile demeanor vanished in a split second. Her eyes hardened into pure, demonic hatred. She sat up straight in the bed, tearing the fake IV line off her arm and tossing it onto the floor.

"You heartless, arrogant BITCH!" Vanessa spat, her voice dripping with venom. "You think you're so smart?! You ruined this family! You locked Dad in jail! You took our money! You were supposed to be our servant, Emma! You were supposed to support us forever!"

"I was your sister," I corrected her, my voice dropping an octave. "But you treated me like dirt under your shoe. You pushed me down on Dad's birthday because you couldn't stand the fact that I paid for every single thing on that table."

"I HATE YOU!" Vanessa screamed, launching herself out of the bed toward me, her fingernails clawing for my face. "I WISH YOU WERE NEVER BORN!"

Before she could reach me, the door flew open. Two police guards who had been standing outside rushed into the room, grabbing Vanessa by the shoulders and pinning her down onto the bed.

"PATIENT IS AGGRESSIVE! RESTRAIN HER!" the officer ordered.

Vanessa thrashing wildly, screaming profanities at the top of her lungs, her mask completely ripped away in front of the medical staff and the police officers.

I stood in the doorway, watching her make her own grave.

"Add attempted escape and assault on an officer to her charge sheet," the police sergeant said, looking at me with sympathy. "Ms. Vance, you should leave. She’s going straight to the county psychiatric correctional facility as soon as the doctor clears her."

I nodded slowly, turning my back on her screaming voice.

As I walked out into the hospital hallway, my mother was waiting, looking at me with hopeful eyes. "Emma? Is she okay? Did you agree to help her?!"

I stopped, looking at Eleanor for what I knew would be the very last time.