I Took the Fall for Him, But He Married My Sister

Chapter 7 Don't Push Me

The welcome-home party went ahead anyway.

Wenda had planned every detail. She'd claimed she was inviting Beatrice's friends—but in truth, she'd only invited her own.

Still, most of them knew Beatrice.

Wenda dressed Beatrice in a dress, shorter in the front and longer in the back, and used heavy foundation to cover most of her scars.

But everyone would still see her limp.

Coming out of the makeup room, Beatrice begged one last time, "Zander, I really don't want to go. Please let me go back to my room."

Zander said, "You have to face people. You can't keep hiding like this—it's pathetic."

With that, Wenda and Zander each took one of her arms and led her downstairs.

Every eye in the room was fixed on the staircase.

As she walked down, her bad leg grew even harder to bear—her body tilted sideways, making her look clumsy and ridiculous.

Zander frowned, clearly annoyed.

He'd probably never felt so humiliated in his life.

But the one truly ashamed was Beatrice.

Her broken leg was exposed under the bright lights for everyone to see.

Those stares were unbearable. She wanted to cry.

A numb, burning pain shot up her leg, bringing back the sharp, terrible agony of the day it had been broken.

Zander was soon pulled away by guests offering to toast him.

Beatrice was immediately surrounded.

"Wow, what happened to her? Why's she crippled?"

"I heard you went to prison. Did they break your leg in there?"

"Look at you now. How do you still have the nerve to hang onto Mr. Green? I'd be too ashamed to show my face."

Beatrice stood trapped in the middle, listening to them pick her apart.

She covered her injured leg in shame, trying to hide it.

But her silence only made them bolder.

They started shoving her.

"Why won't you talk? Did you go dumb along with your leg?"

"You ugly freak—move out of Wenda's way! Keep clinging to Mr. Green, and we'll break your other leg, too!"

Beatrice's leg had never healed right. She could barely stand on her own.

But they shoved her again and again.

She stumbled like a helpless toy—about to fall, only to be pushed in another direction.

Beatrice whispered, trembling, "Please... Don't push me..."

Then someone shoved her hard. No one helped her. Beatrice crashed to the floor on her hands and knees.

Her skirt was too short to cover her. She tried to shield herself and stand up.

But as soon as she began to rise, someone stepped on her back.

She fell to her knees again. Her skirt rode up to her hips, showing all her uncovered scars.

"Gross! Her thighs are covered in scars!"

"She looks like a toad. I'm gonna throw up."

They wouldn't let her stand. Beatrice stayed on the floor, hiding her uncovered scars.

Their insults burned hotter than any slap.

She trembled all over, drowning in shame. She wished she could cover herself with a cloth and disappear.

The self-respect she'd tried so hard to pick up since leaving prison was shattered all over again.

Beatrice kept her head down, pressing it tightly against the floor.