When My Adoptive Sister Came Back

Chapter 6 — The Glass

Olivia turned on her side and faced the window. The sheet rasped softly as she pulled it over her hip. She kept her back to Jacob. Her body was tired and sore. She did not want to look at him. The glass was a flat gray square. The city lights behind it were faint, like tired stars.

No one spoke at first. The beeping from the monitor kept a slow, even beat. The IV tugged her skin where the tape held it. She focused on small things because small things did not argue. Her breath made a light fog on the window and faded. A cart squeaked outside and rolled on.

Dr. Chen stood by the bed chart, reading the numbers with a steady face. At last, she spoke in a simple tone. “An ambulance brought her in during the night. Someone in the alley called emergency. When the team arrived, she was on the ground and bleeding heavily. We stabilized her here." The next words were careful but direct. “She miscarried. There is no baby now. She needs strict rest."

Olivia stayed quiet. The words had already landed. Saying them again would not change them. Her hand lay on the blanket, open and still. She watched a tiny pulse beat in her wrist and told herself to breathe with it.

Jacob took a step closer. She could feel the air shift behind her. His shoes were clean. He smelled like cold air and aftershave, like a man who had come from somewhere bright. His voice was low and clipped, the way he spoke in meetings. “You were found in Cedar Alley," he said. “Is that right?"

Olivia did not move. “Yes."

He waited, as if more should come. When it didn't, he tried again. “You called me first."

“Yes."

“You knew I was at the airport," he said. “You knew I was there to meet Camila."

Olivia closed her eyes for a breath and opened them again. “Everyone knew. You told the elders. You told the guards. The pack group chat lit up."

He made a quiet sound in his throat, not quite agreement, not quite doubt. “So you chose that moment," he said. “You called while I was with her." He kept his tone neutral, but the shape of the next idea was already there. “Olivia… did you push this? Did you make it seem worse because she was back?"

The room went very small and very clear. Olivia's fingers curled against the sheet. She rolled a few inches to reach the water glass on the tray.

Dr. Chen did not move. Her eyes lifted from the chart. The nurse froze with a note half written.

Olivia sat up a little, slow, because fast hurt. She held the glass in one hand. She looked at Jacob's reflection in the window instead of turning her head. “Are you asking if I staged a miscarriage so you would look at me?"

“I am asking if the timing—"

The answer left her hand before it left her mouth. Water flashed once in the air and hit his collarbone. The empty glass followed and struck his shoulder. It fell and broke into thick, harmless pieces on the tile.

“Get out," she said. Her voice was not loud. It was flat, like a door that shuts true.

A drop ran along his jaw and fell. He stared at the glass on the floor as if it could give him better words. “Olivia."

“Get out," she repeated. “You heard what the doctor said. I am empty. I am in pain. I did not plan this to ruin your welcome party." She turned her face back to the window. “Leave."

He drew breath and held it. His hands opened and closed once at his sides. Authority was a coat he knew how to wear, but it did not help him here. He glanced at Dr. Chen as if rank might cross to medicine.

Dr. Chen set the chart down. “Alpha Jacob," she said, firm but not sharp. “She needs quiet and no agitation. You can wait outside. I will update you when there is a change."

He looked like a man about to argue and then remembered who was bleeding and who was not. He nodded without looking at Olivia. “Fine. I'll be in the hall." He stepped around the pieces of glass with neat care and left. The door latched softly.

Olivia's shoulders dropped a fraction. She did not cry. The room was too clean for that. The nurse knelt to gather the shards with a gloved hand and a towel. “We'll bring a plastic cup next time," she said in a calm, practical voice.

“Thank you," Olivia said. Speaking cost something; she spent it anyway.

Dr. Chen checked the IV and the pads under the sheet. “Bleeding is controlled. That's good." She looked at Olivia's face. “Do you want something for pain?"

“A little," Olivia said. “Enough to sleep."

The nurse adjusted the pump. Dr. Chen dimmed the lights to late afternoon. “Let your body do the work," she said. “You don't have to think right now."

“I don't want to," Olivia answered.

Her eyes closed on their own. The drugs softened the edges. The world slid a few steps back. She slept.

When she woke, the window was blue-black and dotted with patient lights. The beeping went on, a soft metronome. Her mouth was dry. A plastic cup sat on the tray where the glass had been. She took a sip. The water tasted like nothing. It was better than tasting like anger.

A light knock came. Dr. Chen looked in first. “He's calmer," the doctor said. “Do you want him to come in?"

“No."

“All right." Dr. Chen did not press. “He asked what happened in the alley. I told him what we know. A passerby called. We found you. We did what we could. That is all anyone needs to say today."

Olivia nodded once. “Thank you."

Dr. Chen wrote something on the chart. “I'll keep visitors restricted. If anyone insists, they can insist into my chart." A small humor moved her mouth. “Try to sleep again."

“I'll try," Olivia said.

The door shut. The hall noises flattened. Time grew loose. Thoughts came like short, plain sentences and did not stay long.

I was attacked. I bled. The baby is gone. He asked if I made it bigger because she came back.

She let the sentences stand like bricks in a line. They were heavy, but they stayed where she put them. She did not dress them up. She did not argue with them. She was too tired to build an excuse for anyone else inside her head.

Another knock came, firmer this time. Dr. Chen opened the door a crack. “Two minutes," she said to someone outside, a warning wrapped in courtesy. She stepped in first. Jacob followed, slow. He stopped well clear of the bed and put his hands in his pockets so they would not reach for anything without permission.

“I'm here because I should have said this earlier," he began. “I am… sorry." The word was stiff in his mouth, like a foreign coin. “I didn't know."

Olivia watched his reflection in the window again. “You didn't want to know," she said. “Those are different things."

He swallowed. “I should have answered."

“Yes."

He looked at the floor. “I thought you were angry because of the welcome. I thought you wanted to make a point. I didn't… I misread it." He pressed his lips together. “I was wrong."

She did not make it easy for him. “You were with her when I called," she said. “I heard her voice. You chose to end the call."

“I did," he said. He did not defend it. That, at least, was new.

Silence spread between them. He looked toward the tray, maybe to reach for the cup, then remembered and did not. “Dr. Chen explained how you got here," he said. “A stranger found you. Not me." He let the fact sit there and scrape.

Olivia said nothing. The IV hissed. The monitor ticked. She could live in this simple sound world forever and never hear another apology that came three hours late.

Jacob tried again, smaller. “I will cancel the welcome," he said. “It should not have been asked of you."

“You should have canceled it the moment you stepped in and saw the blood," she said. “You should not need me to tell you that."

He took the words, flinched, and did not throw them back. “You're right," he said, and it sounded like a sentence he was not used to saying.

“Will you leave now?" she asked. “I want to sleep."

He hesitated. “Is there anything you need?"

“Yes," she said. “Space. Quiet. A lock that works." The last was not a joke. It sounded like one anyway. He almost smiled and then understood it wasn't meant to soften anything.

“I'll be outside," he said.

“I don't need you outside," she said. “I need you gone."

It rocked him more than the water had. He nodded once, as if accepting an order. “All right." He turned to the door, then stopped. His next words came out careful and raw. “I did not mean what I asked before. About you staging it. That was…" He did not finish the sentence. “I'm sorry," he said again, softer, and left.

The latch clicked. The quiet returned. It felt cleaner now that it did not have to make room for anyone else's breath.

Olivia let her body sink into the thin mattress. Her mind traced simple paths. She saw the phone in the rain. She heard the flat voice that had told her “Not now." She saw the small bright splash when the glass hit his shoulder. She felt no pride in it. She felt no shame either. It had been a straight line from an ugly question to a clear answer.

She turned the plastic cup in her fingers. It did not break. That was its whole purpose. She almost laughed, but there was no air for laughter. She put the cup down and closed her eyes.

In the dark behind her lids, she did not picture the welcome. She did not picture Camila's face. She did not picture elders at tables. She pictured only a door and the hand that shuts it. Her hand. Not because she wanted to be dramatic. Because the room behind that door was the only place left in this house that still belonged to her.

Footsteps came and went in the hall. The pump clicked, steady. The beeping kept time. Sleep rose again, simple and heavy. She let it take her.

Outside, the city went on with its own private tasks. Planes crossed the gray. Tires hissed on wet roads. Somewhere, a stranger told a story about the woman he had found in an alley and the ambulance lights that washed the bricks white. He did not know her name. He did not need it to be kind.

Inside, Dr. Chen wrote a short note: “Resting. Stable. Visitor limit maintained." The nurse drew the shade two inches lower. The door closed. The room held.

Olivia slept with her back to the world, and for the first time that day, the world did not try to roll her over.