The Second Chance My Enemy Gave Me

Three years later, I found him exactly where I never wanted to be: my emergency room.
Rhys Thorne was frantic, his eyes bloodshot with panic, clutching his very pregnant wife in his arms.
Doctor! Please, save her first! I dont care about anything elsethey cannot die. Neither of them!
I pulled my nitrile gloves taut, the snap a small, mechanical sound of detachment. I motioned for the nurse to rush the gurney into the trauma bay.
Family must wait here.
But his grip, strong and hot, clamped down on my wrist, sharp enough to bruise. His voice was a raw, rasping whisper.
Sloan, you know your mother and grandmothers deaths had nothing to do with Willow! Are you seriously going to use this moment for a professional vendetta?
I slowly, deliberately, pulled my hand free. The sigh I let out was barely audible, muffled behind my mask.
Mr. Thorne, if you dont trust the staff here, youre welcome to request a transfer. Now.
He stared, his jaw working, a muscle ticking violently in his temple. Ultimately, he snatched the surgery consent form and scrawled his signature.
The operating room light flared to life, then dimmed.
I walked toward the scrub sink, letting the aggressively cold water wash over my fingertips. The chilling realization was that the man who had once been the sun in my sky, who had the power to incinerate me with a word, now couldn't even manage to ruffle my scrubs.
1
The surgery was successful, and the baby was safe, though Willow needed a few days of observation.
As I left for the night, Rhys was waiting outside the hospital entrance.
Its too late. Ill drive you. His voice was low, careful.
I have plans downtown, its out of your way. I adjusted my scarf, avoiding his overly focused gaze.
Just as I reached the curb, my phone vibratedthe notification flashed, announcing my dinner was canceled.
At the same time, his black sedan had maneuvered into the only exit lane, blocking a flashing ambulance that couldn't pass. The blare of the siren was a sharp, demanding sound.
I inhaled sharply, then pulled open the passenger door and slid in.
The heat was already blasting, and the cabin filled with the soft, familiar chords of an early 2000s indie tracka song Id played on repeat back when I believed in infinite chances.
Tell me, he paused, his voice mingling with the music, how have you been, all these years?
Fine, I guess. I watched the blur of city lights streak past the window.
His gaze dropped to my waistline, then flickered to my bare ring finger. A flicker of somethingrelief? satisfaction?crossed his lips, pulling them into a faint, self-satisfied smile.
So... why didnt you ever replace me?
I closed my eyes briefly. Does it matter to you, one way or another?
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. Youre still punishing me, aren't you? Look, we were kids, and yes, I messed up... But Sloan, youve always been so stubborn. If it hadn't been for the mess with your grandmother, maybe we
He cut himself off, glancing sharply at me.
Dont you dare bring her up!
My voice cracked on a high, raw note. I pressed my nails into my palms until the pain was a grounding anchor.
The draft chilling my skin felt exactly like the icy, hollow gust that had cut through me three years ago when the police officer delivered the news of her death.
Pull over at the next intersection. Ill walk from there.
Rhys fell silent for a moment. Its nearly midnight. You have an early shift tomorrow. This area is close to your old place, why not just
No. Ill get out now.
He ignored me, instead engaging the door locks and finally stopping the car in front of a familiar, imposing stone mansion in Greenwood Heights.
I had barely managed to crack the door open when a voiceperfectly pitched, familiar and yet slightly off-keysounded with just the right amount of surprise.
Rhys? Is Willow okay? Back so soon?
The voice stopped when the owner saw me. Willows mother, DeeDee, who had stepped so effortlessly into the role of my fathers wife, flashed a perfectly preserved, practiced smile.
Well, look who it is! Sloan? Three years. Your father... he worries so much about you, darling.
Funny, I haven't lost a wink of sleep over him.
I turned to leave, but Rhys was immediately after me, gripping my arm. Its late. You have no friends and no family. Where are you going to go?
I have a home.
Rhys paused, then gave a short, bitter laugh.
You ran out on your wedding three years ago. Youre alienated from everyone but a handful of hospital colleagues. Thats not a home.
His words were sharp needles, pricking at old scar tissue.
Come back, he urged, his tone softening. Were family. Cant we just be civil?
I lifted my eyes, sweeping past him, past the woman behind him with the poised, calculating smile, and up to the second-floor window where the blurred figure of my father stood, a familiar shadow.
My heart seized.
I remembered the night before the wedding, finding Willow in my couture gown. The sting of my palm across her face. And Rhys, pushing her behind him, looking at me like I was the intruder, a stranger he barely knew.
That nights wind had been just as cold and unforgiving as this one.
I pulled my jacket tighter, crushing the last ember of warmth deep inside.
I have a new home now.
I turned and walked straight into the heavy darkness of the street. I didnt look back.
I knew he wouldnt follow. Men like Rhys were too proud. They only chased the ones they had to gently console, the ones who were the perpetual victims, like Willow.
I remembered high school. He had been the resident bad boy, and Willow, the fragile transfer student, a startled doe.
I had stepped up to protect her.
Shes family, Id told the bullies. Back off.
He was a rough kid, and I was always afraid hed make her a target. I didnt know until one afternoon, after school, when I saw him crouched down, carefully, patiently tying the loose lace on Willows sneaker.
When classmates saw Willow walking with me into my familys estate, they assumed we were cousins.
They didnt know the truth: she was the daughter of my mothers cleaning lady, a woman my father later married. I gave Willow my protection, my status, and an entry point into my privileged world.
But when my mother was gravely ill, Willow and her mother were always near my father.
Then came the rainy night in my senior year. My mother let go of my hand and plunged from the rooftop, taking all the light and warmth with her.
I slowly distanced myself from Willow, but Rhys stepped up as her sole protector. If someone slighted her, hed fight them on the basketball court until his knuckles were bleeding. If she cried, hed vault the school fence to buy her favorite gourmet desserts, patiently soothing her until her tears dried.
He never showed me that tenderness.
I became quiet, an invisible shadow in the corner of the classroom.
On my eighteenth birthday, the house felt empty. I was alone.
Rhys arrived with a cake, the single candle flickering. He sang softly. My throat ached, the banked-up grief and loneliness threatening to burst free.
But then Willow appeared shyly behind him.
She began to sing softly too, her eyes wide and innocent.
In that moment, I felt a tidal wave of icy fury. I grabbed the cake, that fragile, flickering centerpiece of my delusion, and hurled ithardright into Willows face. The vanilla cream and red frosting exploded, a pathetic, sticky spectacle.
Rhys instantly pushed her behind him, his voice booming with fury. Sloan! Thats enough! Are you ever going to stop?
Tears sprang to my eyes. I pointed a shaking finger at Willow. Rhys Thorne, choose! Right now! Choose one of us!
He looked at me, then back at the sobbing Willow.
Finally, he released her hand.
But the snow was fallinga quiet, unforgiving curtainand the look he gave me was not one of relief or devotion, but of deep, raw, unwilling resentment. I was the prize hed been forced to win.
The clock read 1:00 AM. I turned off the lamp and fell into a heavy sleep.
The next morning, his sedan was parked outside my apartment building.
He rolled down the window, a knowing, smug smile on his face.
Tough talk about your new home. Looks like you havent moved on from your old haunts, living in a sketchier part of town to save face.
I had chosen this temporary place because I was certain hed try to track me, and I refused to let him know my true address. I glanced at my watchI was already going to be late. Reluctantly, I opened the door and sat down.
I thought youd be at the hospital, watching Willow.
His hand paused on the steering wheel. I was. She woke up craving the corned beef hash from that twenty-four-hour spot downtown. Figured Id swing by on my way back to check on you.
I nodded, saying nothing.
The car zipped right past the glowing neon sign of The Hash House. He didnt slow down. He didnt even glance over.
At the hospital, I pushed open Willows door. She was awake, her face pale and fragile.
When she saw me, she gently tugged Rhyss sleeve. Rhys, you look exhausted from watching me all night. Its so good you were here when I woke up.
Youre fine, I said, listening through the stethoscope. You can be discharged tomorrow after observation.
As I turned to leave, Willow suddenly grabbed my wrist, her voice catching with a sob.
Sister, about your grandmother... I failed. I tried to stop her, but I couldn't... I was drugged that night, you have to believe Rhys! We just didnt tell you because we couldn't bear to hurt you more...
The room went silent. Every eye in the room felt like a needle pressed into my back.
Grandmother...
A decade after the death of my mother, I had watched my grandmother fall from the exact same roof. The familiar, soul-crushing coldness seized my heart again.
I violently pulled my hand away and walked out, my back ramrod straight.
The smell of disinfectant was overwhelming in the hallway.
I stopped in the deserted stairwell.
My hands were clenched so tightly in my coat pockets that the deep crescent marks of my nails broke the skin. A small, sticky pain, a necessary distraction from the old, pulsing wound in my chest that had never truly closed.
A familiar cramping pain flared in my stomach. I reflexively clutched my abdomen.
A hand reached out, holding a small box of antacids.
Still havent broken that habit, have you? Rhyss voice was deliberately gentle, laced with false concern.
I sidestepped, avoiding his hand, and didn't take the medicine.
You work like a demon, he sighed, his voice laced with pity. Why not take a couple of days off? Whats the big deal?
I looked at his genuine, sympathetic expression and felt a spike of bitter humor.
My days off are reserved for things that matter.
He didnt answer. He reached out to touch my hair, but I dodged him.
You always do this. You never give me an inch. I remember in high school, you had a 102-degree fever but insisted on finishing that exam.
You collapsed right there in the auditorium. Scared me to death.
You were miserable, but you wouldnt admit you needed help. He spoke to the air, lost in the recollection, his eyes focused on something I couldn't see.
He didnt notice me looking down at my phone. The screen was bright, a new text message waiting.
Honey, meeting ended early. Ill be home tomorrow.
I cut into his reverie with a cold laugh.
People always romanticize the past.
You didnt do anything, Rhys. You just focused on consoling Willow, who was crying because her grade was lower than mine.
His smile vanished instantly.
I stayed away for the next few days.
When I finally stepped into Willows hospital room, she was being helped up by Rhys.
Why the delay in discharge? I frowned. This was days longer than necessary.
Willow looked at me, her eyes wide and soft. I didnt want to leave... I was afraid youd be angrier if I left without saying goodbye.
She came forward, grabbing my hand, her eyes welling up. Sister, please, come home with us? Dad... he genuinely misses you.
Your room is exactly as you left it. Ive never dared to go in.
Her voice was humble, laced with a subtle, victimized plea. The nurses around us cast looks of silent judgment toward me.
I closed my eyes, swallowing the rising acrid taste in my throat.
...Fine.
I had left some of my mothers things behind.
I sat in the back of the sedan, leaning wearily against the window. When I tilted my head, my cashmere scarf slipped, pooling around my collarbone.
I moved to pull it back up, but it was too late. I met his eyes in the rearview mirror. They were no longer the deep, familiar brown, but chips of hard, cold obsidian, locked onto the undeniable, dark-red evidence on my neck.
His knuckles on the steering wheel instantly turned white, the blue veins popping with effort.
He drove too fast. When we reached the house, Willow was pale and nauseous, dry-heaving several times.
Rhys instantly helped her out, his voice laced with self-reproach. Oh, sweetie, are you sick? Im so sorry, I drove too quickly.
Willow shook her head weakly, but her gaze was fixed on me. No, no, Im fine. Just happy that Sister finally came home.
I ignored them both, heading straight for my old room on the second floor.
I pushed the door open. Time had stood still. I walked to the desk and picked up the faded photo of my mother and me.
She looked at me lovingly in the frame, a genuine light in her eyes.
My fingers traced her smiling face, and a sharp, cruel memory pierced my mind.
It was after my high school pre-exam scores had dropped. My mother had held the paper, her brow deeply furrowed.
Sloan, youre spending too much time with Rhys Thorne.
Please, pull back and focus on your grades, all right?
I was giddy with the delusion of first love, and I bit back cruelly.
What else do you ever do but police me?
If youre so concerned, why dont you try policing your own husband for once!
My mothers face instantly drained of color.
Her lips trembled, but she never said a word.
She jumped soon after.
I realized now that she had been in unbearable pain, staying alive only for me. And I, her own daughter, had driven the sharpest knife into her bleeding wound.
Bang!
The door was slammed shut.
Rhys pinned me against the wall, his finger tracing the mark on my neck, his eyes dark with suspicion.
Did you do this to yourself? Sloan, what kind of games are you playing now?
I stared, suddenly finding the man Id loved for so long surprisingly unintelligent. I struggled to push him away, but the door suddenly flew open again.
Willow stood there, her hands flying up to her mouth, tears springing to her eyes.
Rhys? Sloan? What are you... doing?
I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound, my eyes sweeping over her pathetic, distressed face and her distended belly.
At least we werent naked, Willow. I think that's the main difference.
I turned my gaze to the window, the coldness in my voice deepening.
Or, you could jump from here. Its only the second floor. You wont die. Ill make sure I catch you in time.
You selfish bitch! My fathers roar came from the hallway.
You two are exactly alike! Unreasonable, theatrical, and so damn selfish! Everything that happenedits what you deserved!
I closed my eyes, turning away from him.
Rhys grabbed my wrist fiercely. Sloan!
I yanked my hand free and walked down the stairs without looking back.
Behind me, I heard Willows choked sobs and the hurried, anxious reassurances of her makeshift family.
Stepping out the door, the cold winter wind whipped around my collar. I cinched my scarf tight, then pulled out my phone and sent a short voice note.
I have Moms photo. Come get me. Home.
I walked aimlessly down the deserted street, my thoughts plummeting into the deepest pit of my past.
Soon after the wedding disaster, I pieced together the truth of my grandmothers jump.
That day, Id gone to see her. Id left my phone behind, and she called the house several times, but when I answered, she never spoke. Later, she brought the phone back and begged me not to marry Rhys.
How did I respond?
I told her she couldn't judge my happiness by my mothers mistakes. That Rhys and I were childhood sweethearts, perfect for each other, destined.
It broke her. Her last hope for me, her only granddaughter, shattered. She had nothing left to live for in this world.
Hate burned away my last scrap of sanity.
I took the most embarrassing video clips I could find, used a sophisticated deepfake app to place their faces on the 'actors,' and anonymously dropped the link into the inboxes of his entire board of directors and the society page editor.
Rhyss response was faster than I expected. He immediately filed a police report.
At the precinct, I filed my own, calmly stating the facts of my grandmothers death. But the officers single, dry question"Do you have direct evidence?"crucified me.
Rhys and Willow sat opposite me, innocent and resolute, denying everything in unison.
I was the one detained.
Fifteen days later, I walked out.
The first notification on my phone was the extravagant wedding announcement: Willow, draped in white, on Rhyss arm, his smile blinding.
Willow's finger was weighted with the four-carat cushion-cut pink diamondthe one Rhys had commissioned from Tiffany & Co. Hed spent months on the design, saying the blush-pink matched the flush on my cheeks when I laughed. The ring size was small, deliberately so, for a hand he had already chosen.
I refused to let it stand.
I burst into the reception, throwing the contents of a fuel can onto Willows skirt. Fire erupted, and the room was filled with screams.
Rhys shoved me aside, taking the full impact of the falling truss and the flaming liquor bottle directly on his legs.
Willow later worked tirelessly, spending a fortune to save him from permanent disability.
I was arrested for arson and aggravated assault.
My lawyer sighed through the iron mesh, suggesting a plea for leniency required the victims statement. He accompanied me to the hospital.
Rhys, sitting in a wheelchair, delivered a stinging backhand across my face.
You are always so reckless! So demanding! You have never been half the compassionate soul that Willow is!
Willow cried, gently tugging his sleeve. Rhys, please... Sister didnt mean it. Lets sign the forgiveness letter...
He snatched the papers and, directly in front of me, tore them into a thousand tiny shreds. The paper dust drifted down like a final, desperate snowfall.
Get out! he spat, his eyes burning into mine.
Never let me see your face again.
Or I swear, I have ways to make you regret this far more than you do now.
I smiled, holding back my tears.
Who would have thought that after three years, the first time I saw him again, I would be the one saving the two people I hated most in the world, along with their child.
Suddenly, a wide, dark umbrella appeared overhead, blocking the sudden onslaught of snow.
A soft, warm hand grabbed my pants leg.
Mommy, carry me...
A warm, grounded voice sounded behind me, laced with concern.
I thought you were waiting in the caf. Its too cold here. Lets get in the car.
He reached up, gently brushing the snow from my hair.
Footsteps pounded on the pavement. Rhys came running out of the house. Sloan, I
His words died in his throat.
His gaze was locked on the child in my arms and the man holding the umbrella over me. His face was a masterpiece of denial, the blood draining away to leave him ghostly white. He swallowed, the movement convulsing his throat, before he managed to choke out:
They... theyre who?
I told you. I have a family.
Rhys seemed not to hear, or perhaps refused to accept. His eyes darted to Graham, then back to me. He managed a slow, desperate smile.
Hes... a colleague from the hospital? A doctor?
He tried to look amused, but his anxiety was palpable.
I feel like... I know you from somewhere?
Graham didnt respond. He simply held the child steady with one arm, his other hand protectively resting on my back. He let his look sweep over Rhys with the cold, measured detachment you reserve for a broken traffic light.
Rhyss hand, which had subconsciously reached out, froze mid-air, unwanted and unanswered.
Suddenly, recognition flashed in Rhyss eyes, and his pupils shrank.
The Forbes cover! Of course. Mr. Caldwell! I... I didnt realize you had a family. Youre much younger than I expected.
He tried to inject a professional familiarity into his voice.
My wife, shes in journalism; she mentioned trying to get an interview...
Finally, his gaze snapped back to me.
Sloan, how... how did you two meet?
I looked at his desperate, transparent attempt to maintain composure and found it immensely pathetic.
I slipped my arm through Grahams, pulling him close, and spoke the words clearly, deliberately.
Hes my husband.
I didnt wait for his reaction, turning and getting into the car.
The little one leaned on the window, watching the street with curiosity.
Mommy, that man is still standing in the snow. Is he okay? Why is he frozen?
I looked in the rearview mirror at the figure shrinking in the snow, rigid and still.
I dont know, sweetie. Maybe hes made of ice.

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