His new stepsister His biggest threat (Claire and Elijah) novel Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Claire’s POV**

The journey home stretched out like an eternity, even though the hospital was just a short drive away. Each minute felt like an hour as I sat in the back seat, staring blankly out the window, watching the world blur by. The familiar sights of our neighborhood began to emerge, yet they felt foreign, like remnants of a life I barely recognized anymore.

When the car finally came to a halt, my mom was quick to assist me out, her gentle hands guiding me as the maids trailed closely behind, clutching my hospital bag as if it held the remnants of my health. My legs felt as though they were made of jelly, quivering with each step I took toward the house. Yet, inside, a surge of relief bubbled up; no more sterile hospital rooms, at least not for a few days until the cycle began anew.

The doctors had upped my medication regimen, insisting I take the pills three times a day. They warned me that if I felt even the slightest flutter in my heart, I should not hesitate to take them, lest things spiral out of control. Their words echoed in my mind, a constant reminder of the fragility of my condition.

As I pushed open the front door, mom followed closely, and I could feel her anxious energy behind me. The moment I sank into my bed, the exhaustion of it all washed over me. I couldn’t help but think of my old room—cozy and filled with memories—compared to this one, which felt vast and empty, designed to accommodate seven beds, yet it only housed my loneliness.

“How are you feeling, Claire?” Mom’s voice was soft, almost a whisper, as if any louder might send me into another fainting spell.

I rolled my eyes, exasperated. “Mom, this isn’t my first rodeo. You know exactly how it feels to be stuck in that place.”

She settled beside me on the bed, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear with a tenderness that made my heart ache. “Ethan said you’re such a strong girl. He’s really grateful that you’re his daughter now…”

At that, I turned to her, my expression hardening into a frown. “When,” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper yet laced with steel, “did I agree to be anyone’s daughter? I only accepted him as your husband, not as my father. Is that so difficult to grasp?” Anger coursed through my veins, making my voice tremble.

“He already has his son to care for. Who would want a sick daughter anyway?” I spat, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

Mom’s face crumpled, a flicker of hurt crossing her features. “Claire…”

“He’s probably just saying that to make you think he’s a good person,” I pressed on, the tears welling in her eyes only fueling my fire. “Can’t you see he’s just playing the role of a caring stepfather? It’s all an act to make you feel better about your choice!”

“My husband is a good person!” Mom’s voice cracked, her defense fiercer than I had anticipated.

I stared at her, taken aback by the sudden intensity of her words. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Wow… listen to you. You’re already calling him ‘my husband’ like it’s some sacred title. I’m starting to think you were relieved to be rid of Dad. I’ve never seen anyone move on so quickly…”

Her face drained of color, shock evident in her eyes. “Are you implying that I never loved your father?”

I looked away, my throat tightening with unspoken words. “Mom… I never said that. But your actions are speaking volumes louder than anything I could ever articulate.”

Silence enveloped us, thick and heavy. Her hands clenched into fists on her lap, trembling with the weight of our unspoken thoughts.

“You know what?” she finally broke the silence, her voice quaking with suppressed rage. “You can think whatever you want, Claire. I’m done trying to convince you!”

Stunned, I stared at her, my heart pounding in disbelief.

“If you don’t see what I’m doing for us, fine! But I can’t live with the guilt of having rejected help when we needed it most!”

With that, she stormed toward the door, her heels clicking angrily against the tiles, each step echoing my own turmoil.

“There’s no need to sugarcoat it, Mom… I’m the charity case here. I’m the one who needs help,” I shot back, my voice laced with bitterness.

“Claire… This anger and pride won’t get you anywhere. You need help. Learn to be grateful when someone offers it.”

And with those final words, she exited, slamming the door with such force that the sound reverberated through my chest, leaving me breathless.

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