Chapter 6 - Unraveling the Facade
The orthopedic surgery lasted four hours and twenty-two minutes.
When I finally drifted up from the heavy fog of general anesthesia the next afternoon, my entire right arm was immobilized in a massive, rigid abduction brace—a black fiberglass contraption that held my arm locked at a forty-five-degree angle away from my torso. The pain was different now; it was a dull, throbbing, metallic ache from the surgical anchors drilled into my bone, but the sickening instability of the dislocation was gone.
Dr. Vance checked my vital signs at three p.m., looking satisfied.
"We repaired the labrum with four BioComposite anchors," he explained, tapping the digital chart. "The supraspinatus tendon was retracted, but we were able to mobilize it and reattach it to the greater tuberosity. It’s tight, Marissa. Very tight. You cannot move that arm independently for six weeks. No driving, no lifting, no typing with the right hand. But if you protect it, you will get ninety-five percent of your function back."
"Thank you, Dr. Vance," I croaked, my throat raw from the intubation tube.
"Don't thank me," he said with a small smile. "Thank your security detail outside."
I frowned weakly. "Security?"
Dr. Vance stepped aside, and the door opened.
Ryan walked in.
He was dressed in dark denim and a navy sweater, holding a cardboard tray with two iced coffees and a paper bag from the bakery down the street. He looked weary—dark circles shadowed his eyes—but there was an unmistakable lightness in his posture, like a prisoner who had narrowly escaped a lifelong sentence.
"Hey," he said gently, setting the drinks on the small table. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a truck," I admitted honestly, offering a weak smile. "Ryan... what does Dr. Vance mean by security?"
Ryan pulled up a chair and sat down, his expression turning serious. "Your mother and Paige tried to come back this morning while you were in the operating room. Paige had her phone out, trying to record a video in the waiting room, claiming the hospital was holding you hostage to destroy her wedding."
I closed my eyes, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. "She really has no bottom, does she?"
"None," Ryan agreed quietly. "The hospital administration had them permanently trespassed from the property. I hired two private guards from a firm our office uses to sit outside your door until you’re discharged. Nobody gets in here unless your father or I approve it."
"Ryan, you don't owe me any of this," I whispered, looking down at the massive brace on my chest. "This was between Paige and me. You got dragged into our family’s toxic swamp."
"No, Marissa," Ryan said firmly, leaning forward, his eyes locking onto mine. "Paige didn't drag me in. I walked in with my eyes closed for three years because I wanted to believe she was the person she pretended to be. I was a coward who ignored twenty red flags because she was charming at dinner parties and my mother liked her pedigree."
He pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping the screen before setting it on the tray table in front of me.
"Brooke broke," Ryan said.
I looked at the screen. It was an open text thread between Brooke Ellison and Ryan, filled with dozens of high-resolution screenshots.
"What is this?" I asked.
"Yesterday afternoon, Paige tried to destroy Brooke on social media," Ryan explained, a grim edge to his voice. "Paige posted on her private Instagram story that Brooke was the one who encouraged her to push you—that Brooke thought it would be 'funny' and that Paige was just peer-pressured. Paige tried to throw her maid of honor under the bus to save her own skin."
I wasn't even surprised. That was Paige’s standard operating procedure: whenever the ship took on water, throw everyone else overboard to keep her head above the surface.
"Brooke didn't take it well," Ryan continued. "She sent me the entire group chat history from their bridal planning thread over the last four months. Look at the date from three weeks ago."
I scrolled through the messages with my left thumb.
There, in black and white, was a conversation between Paige, Brooke, and two other bridesmaids:
> **Paige:** *Marissa is still wearing that disgusting blue shoulder sling. I told her it ruins the color balance of the bridal party aesthetic. She literally looks like an injured pigeon.*
>
> **Brooke:** *Can't she just take it off for the ceremony? It’s only twenty minutes.*
>
> **Paige:** *She claims her doctor said she has to wear it in crowds. She’s so dramatic. Honestly, if she doesn't take it off by the pre-ceremony cocktails, I’m going to shove her into the pool. She can't wear a soggy brace down the aisle, can she? Lol.*
>
> **Brooke:** *Paige omfg you wouldn't.*
>
> **Paige:** *Watch me. It’ll be hilarious and she’ll have to go change into normal clothes and sit in the back row where she belongs.*
My heart turned to ice.
It hadn't been an impulsive, thoughtless prank. It hadn't been an accident born of wedding-day stress.
It was premeditated. She had joked about it, planned it, and executed it with absolute, calculating malice, all because a piece of medical fabric dared to disrupt the aesthetic of her photographs.
"Did you show this to my dad?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
"I did," Ryan said quietly. "Arthur broke down in tears in the cafeteria. He called his attorney immediately. He’s filing for divorce from Elaine tomorrow morning. And..." Ryan hesitated, looking at me carefully. "He asked me to help you file a formal police report for felony battery."
I looked up at him, my breath catching in my throat. "A police report?"
"Marissa, you have four surgical anchors in your bone. You have six months of rehabilitation. Your medical bills are over sixty thousand dollars," Ryan said, his voice dropping into the steady, unyielding tone of an attorney preparing for trial. "In the state of Georgia, intentionally pushing someone with known prior injuries that results in severe bodily harm is aggravated battery. It’s a felony."
He leaned in, his eyes fierce with protective conviction.
May you like
"You don't have to protect her anymore. You don't have to be the quiet sister who stays out of the way. She tried to break you, Marissa. It is time she learns that actions have consequences."
***
