I held her tightly.
For a moment, she was no longer the beautiful birthday girl from the ballroom.
She was my little sister, frightened and ashamed.
“I thought Mom was telling the truth.”
“I know.”
“She said he wasn’t really sick.”
I looked toward Leo.
“He’s very sick, sweetheart.”
Chloe approached his bed slowly.
Her silver dress rustled against the hospital floor.
She reached toward his hand, then hesitated.
“Can I touch him?”
I nodded.
“Just gently.”
She rested two fingers against his palm.
“Hey, little lion,” she whispered.
Leo had always called Chloe his favorite princess.
She had taught him how to build cardboard castles and let him decorate her expensive handbags with removable stickers.
Watching her stand beside him reminded me that Eleanor had not managed to poison every relationship in our family.
Chloe wiped her cheeks.
“She knows.”
I frowned.
“Knows what?”
“Mom knows he’s on a ventilator.”
