Forgive, Never Forget

That day, I was mature enough to give Sarah plenty of space to handle things. I didn't bother coming home until one in the morning.

But when I opened the door, Sarah was standing there, glaring at me with a dark expression.

"Where the hell have you been? I called you a dozen times."

I paused mid-yawn and said flatly, "Went to an auto show with some friends."

Sarah looked at me like she didn't believe me for a second, her eyes scanning my face. She probably expected me to be crying, screaming, maybe even on the verge of hurting myself. The last thing she expected was for me to do nothing and just go have fun.

"What are you up to now? Lucas is your brother. Have a little decency and don't go after an innocent person."

I shook my head, my voice calm. "He's my brother. I'm not going to do anything to him."

Then I remembered something and added, "He's sick, probably from the shock. You should go see him tomorrow."

The room went dead silent.

Sarah's voice sounded like it was being squeezed out of her throat. "You want me to go see him?"

I knew why she was so shocked. In the past, I would never have told her to go see another man. Hell, if I even saw someone talk to her for more than a few seconds, I'd lose my mind and interrogate her for three days straight. Looking back, I was insane.

She grabbed my wrist, her eyes full of confusion, her voice even trembling a little. "Jason, what is wrong with you?"

I brushed her hand off, my tone steady the whole time. "Nothing. Don't overthink it."

I was tired after a long day.

Sarah followed me, her face pale with anger. But just as she reached for me, her phone rang.

She answered. My mother's hysterical crying came through the speaker.

"Lucas tried to kill himself! Someone leaked the photos, and he couldn't take it. He took pills!"

Sarah's head snapped toward me, her eyes sharp and dangerous.

I stood there, a little stunned. To be fair, I had done exactly that in my past life. But this time, it wasn't me. What did I have to do with it?

Before I could explain, Sarah grabbed me and dragged me to the car, not caring how much I resisted.

At the hospital, my mother dropped to her knees in front of me. Her face was twisted with desperate, pleading love for Lucas.

"Please," she begged. "I'm begging you. Let Sarah go. Give her to Lucas. He's suffered so much."

Watching my mother's blatant favoritism, my chest still ached with a dull, familiar pain.

If anyone deserves pity, it's me. I was the one switched at birth. I grew up clawing my way through life in the countryside.

At four years old, I was climbing onto kitchen counters to teach myself how to cook. If my foster mother wasn't happy, she'd slap me across the face.

I dropped out of school at twelve. My foster father sent me to work in a textile factory, where my thumb and index finger were crushed by a machine. I still have the scars.

The first day the Robinsons brought me back, my own mother looked at me with disgust and questioned it more than once. "Are you sure he's really our son? He's so... country."

My mother's wailing pulled me back to the moment. I looked over at Sarah. She was staring right at me, not blinking, like she was waiting for my answer, too.

I smiled and turned back to my mother.

"Of course. I can't give him the marriage certificate, but Sarah can stay by Lucas's side for as long as he needs."

My mother's face froze.

But Sarah walked toward me, grabbed my arm, and pinned me against the wall.

"You screwed up, so now you're pawning me off for your mistakes?" Her voice cracked. "Jason, what the hell do I even mean to you?"

Her scream rang in my ears, and by the end, she was practically choking on her own words.

I looked at her red-rimmed eyes, genuinely confused.

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

From day one, Sarah hated our arranged marriage. She thought I was vulgar and low-class. Sure, she married me, but that never stopped her from doing whatever she wanted on the side.

So why was she acting like this now?