My priority was locking down the inheritance before anyone tried to latch on to it. I went to bed early, but my brain wouldn’t shut off. The thought of Natalie finding out kept me wired. She’s the kind of person who would make it her life’s mission to insert herself into my business. Money that size would be like a magnet for her.
The next morning was clear and bright. I made coffee, pulled up the address on my phone, and drove toward the river. The neighborhood was quiet, full of old homes with manicured lawns and front porches. Aunt Evelyn’s place was at the end of a street that dead-ended into the water.
I parked in the driveway and got out. The house looked just like I remembered, maybe even better. Fresh paint, solid shutters, roof in good shape. Whoever she’d hired to look after it had done the job. I walked around the side and saw the dock still standing, the tide coming in under it.
For a moment, I thought about how easy it would be to live here. No more constant moves every time the Air Force needed me somewhere. No more cramped apartments on base.
But that thought didn’t last. I wasn’t ready to give up my career, and I knew this house might just become another target for Natalie.
I locked up and headed back to my condo, planning to grab lunch before the meeting with Mark. I never made it that far.
I was two blocks from home, crossing an intersection I’d driven through a thousand times. The light turned green. I started forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a white delivery truck blow through the red on my left.
There was no time to react.
The impact was like getting hit by a sledgehammer. My head slammed against the side window. Glass shattered and the world spun. The airbag punched me in the chest, knocking the breath out of me. My ears rang so loud it drowned out everything else.
When I could focus again, there were voices outside the car. A man’s voice said, “Don’t move, ma’am. We’re calling for help.”
I wanted to say I was fine, but my mouth felt full of cotton. My left shoulder was on fire, and I couldn’t tell if it was broken or just bruised. The metallic taste in my mouth told me I’d bitten my tongue.
Paramedics arrived fast. One of them leaned in and asked my name. I gave it along with my address. He asked if there was anyone they should call. My mind went straight to someone from my unit, not Natalie.
They got me onto a stretcher, secured my neck, and loaded me into the ambulance. I stared at the ceiling panels as they hooked me to an IV. The siren started, and the city blurred past the rear doors.
I wasn’t thinking about the truck driver or the damage to my car. I was thinking about how, in less than twenty-four hours, I’d gone from a private plan to handle my aunt’s inheritance quietly to being strapped into the back of an ambulance, heading to a military hospital with no idea how many people would know where I was before the day was over.
The paramedics’ questions faded into the background as they wheeled me through the hospital doors. The smell of antiseptic hit me before the bright lights did. They rolled me into an exam room, hooked me up to monitors, and started cutting away my shirt to check for injuries. My shoulder throbbed harder when the cold scissors grazed my skin.
A nurse with a no-nonsense tone introduced herself as Denise. She asked me to rate my pain on a scale of one to ten. I told her nine, maybe nine and a half, and she gave me something through the IV that dulled it fast.
X-rays followed. My collarbone was fractured, two ribs were cracked, and my head was going to pound for days from the concussion.
While the doctor gave orders, my mind drifted—not to the truck or the hospital bills, but back years, to the kitchen table where Natalie and I learned early how to push each other’s buttons. We were only two years apart, but we might as well have been born on different planets.
I was the one who brought home perfect report cards and letters from coaches. Natalie could out-talk anyone and had a gift for making friends instantly, but she treated rules like they were optional.
Our parents tried to balance it. When I got an award, Natalie got a day out with Mom. When she got in trouble at school, I got pulled into the family talk so no one felt singled out. But the balance didn’t work. Natalie kept a mental scoreboard, and in her mind, I was always ahead.
By the time high school rolled around, she was skipping classes, sneaking out, and telling people I was the boring one. I didn’t care until she started spreading rumors that got back to my friends. That’s when I realized her competitiveness wasn’t harmless.
When I enlisted in the Air Force at nineteen, Natalie told me I’d come crawling back in a year. She bet me a hundred bucks I wouldn’t make it through basic training.
I made it, and then some. I never got that hundred.
Fast-forward to now: me lying on a hospital bed, staring at ceiling tiles while the medical team worked. Those old patterns were still there. If she found out I’d inherited millions, she wouldn’t think, Good for Colleen. She’d think, How do I get my share?
Denise came back with a clipboard.
“We’re admitting you for observation,” she said. “You’ll be here at least overnight, maybe a couple of days.”
I didn’t argue. I could barely sit up without the room tilting.
She settled me in a room with two beds, though the other one was empty. She adjusted the IV and told me to buzz if I needed anything.
I reached for my phone. My instinct was to call someone from my unit, people who understood the value of keeping things quiet. I texted Chief Master Sergeant Boyd, a mentor and friend, letting him know I was in Charleston Memorial’s military wing.
He replied fast. Need me there?
Not yet, I told him.
The door opened and I tensed. It wasn’t Natalie, just a hospital tech checking my vitals. He chatted about the weather, took my blood pressure, and left. The quiet settled in again.
My mind wandered back to the last real conversation Natalie and I had a few years ago at a family barbecue. She’d made some dig about how real jobs don’t involve wearing a uniform and living off the government. I’d laughed it off in front of everyone, but later I told her she could keep her opinions to herself.
She didn’t.
A knock broke the memory.
Denise poked her head in. “You’ve got a visitor,” she said, not asking if I wanted one.
Then Natalie walked in like she owned the place. She had on a sundress and sunglasses pushed up into her hair. The first words out of her mouth weren’t Are you okay?
“But I heard you were in a crash.”
“Yeah,” I said.
She looked around the room, taking in the empty second bed, the IV stand, the monitor beeping at my side.
“You’re really milking this, huh?”
I ignored that. “How did you hear?”
“Charleston’s small,” she said, like that explained everything. “So what’s going on with you? I thought you were busy saving the world or whatever you do up in D.C.”
“I’m on leave,” I said.
“Leave for what?”
“Personal reasons.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Personal like money?”
I stared back at her. “No.”
She smiled like she didn’t believe me. “You know, I’ve been looking at some investment opportunities lately. Real estate, small businesses. Could be a good time for family to help each other out.”
The nurse walked in before I had to respond, checking my IV line. Natalie stood there watching me like she was waiting for me to crack. When she saw she wasn’t getting answers, she said she’d be back when I wasn’t so grumpy.
After she left, Denise shook her head.
“Family?”
“Unfortunately,” I said.
