“Did someone do this to you?” she asked.

And all three times my mother answered for me.

“No, he fell down the patio stairs,” my mother insisted.

But that woman kept staring at me, refusing to turn away. I looked down at my left leg, where my knee was deformed, swollen, and covered with stained bandages. The pain was so intense I couldn’t even cry, so I gathered what little air I had left in my lungs.

“My brother hit me with a lug wrench,” I whispered.

The silence fell suddenly over the room. My mother, Amanda Wellman, got up furious from her chair.

“Lies! You’ve always wanted to destroy him!” she screamed.

The nurse stepped between the two of them while the policeman by the curtain opened his notebook. Eight words changed my life, but it had all started forty-eight hours earlier with an ivory wedding invitation.

My name is Monica Wellman, I am 31 years old, and I work as a forensic auditor for a private hospital company in San Diego. I have always trusted numbers more than people, because numbers don’t make excuses or call a lie family.

My brother Austin, on the other hand, had spent his whole life running away from the consequences of his actions. When he broke something, Mom said he was stressed, and when money disappeared, she claimed he had urgent needs. If I asked too many questions, I always ended up being blamed for everything.

That afternoon he appeared in my office wearing an expensive suit and a huge smile. He left an elegant invitation on my desk and leaned over.

“I’m getting married next month, and Monica, no weird accountant questions,” Austin said with a smirk.

The bride was Naomi Millican, daughter of a real estate businessman from La Jolla. The ceremony would be held at an estate near Temecula, with more than three hundred guests attending.

During the engagement dinner, a waiter spilled water on Naomi’s bag, and as I helped her dry it, a passport fell to the floor. Behind it appeared a marriage certificate that made my heart stop.

Austin’s name appeared next to Kathleen Hilliard’s name. The date was listed as five years ago, and there were no registered divorces or annulments anywhere in the public records.

The next morning I confirmed the marriage in the public records and located Kathleen in Oceanside.

“I am Monica, Austin’s sister,” I said when she opened the door.

There was a long silence before she stepped aside.

“I was wondering when someone from your family was going to come looking for me,” Kathleen admitted softly.

“Do you know he is getting married next month?” I asked directly.

Kathleen took a deep breath as she wiped her hands on her apron.

“I thought he was still my husband,” she confessed.That afternoon, Kathleen spoke with Naomi, and the wedding was canceled before midnight. The next day was my birthday, and although I wanted to cancel the dinner, Mom insisted on hosting it.

“The family must stay together no matter what,” Mom declared over the phone.

It was just Austin, Mom, and me at the table, where nobody sang and nobody touched the cake. Austin went out to the garage and came back carrying a cross wrench with a cold look in his eyes.

“You ruined my future,” Austin growled, stepping closer to my chair.

“Naomi and Kathleen deserved to know the truth,” I replied calmly.

“You chose two strangers over your own blood,” he shouted.

“I chose not to keep lying,” I retorted.

Austin picked up the tool and struck me with all his force. The impact against my knee sounded like a plate breaking, and I fell screaming as I realized I couldn’t feel my foot.

My mother didn’t rush to help me as I lay writhing on the ground. Instead, she clapped twice and smiled at her son.

“Finally, someone put the trash in its place,” Mom praised him.

Austin picked up the key from the counter and turned toward the door.

“Let’s go, Mom,” Austin said coldly.

They left me alone, dragging myself across the floor toward my phone before I lost consciousness. I couldn’t imagine that this was just the beginning, and that the worst was yet to come.

PART 2