Isabella didn't sleep.
She lay in bed with her eyes open, staring at a ceiling she couldn't see. Her body was stiff. Her jaw ached from clenching.
Only her ears worked.
*She's just a blind little cripple. What the hell is she gonna do?*
It played on a loop. Over and over. His voice. His laugh. That casual cruelty, like he was bored of her even as a joke.
Morning came anyway.
Julian walked into the kitchen the same way he always did. Coffee first. Then her.
"Sleep well?"
His hand brushed the top of her head. Gentle. Warm.
Isabella's skin crawled.
The same mouth that said those words was now whispering good morning like nothing happened.
"How are your eyes today?"
She didn't answer.
She sat at the table and stared at the blur in front of her.
"Isabella?"
He laughed softly.
"Why are you so quiet this morning?"
Quiet.
Yeah. Quiet keeps you alive.
She nodded.
"I'm fine."
Julian slid two things across the table. She heard the small rattle of a pill bottle. Then the lighter tap of the eye drop container.
"Take your medicine."
She picked up the pill. Swallowed it with water. Muscle memory. Three years of it.
Then she reached for the eye drops.
Unscrewed the cap.
Tilted her head back.
And right there — his laugh hit her again.
*Blind little cripple.*
Her hand stopped.
Something in her gut pulled tight. Not a thought. More like a reflex, the kind of feeling you get a half-second before you step off a curb wrong.
She put the cap back on.
"I'll use them later. My eyes sting a little."
Julian didn't answer right away.
The kitchen went still.
"Use them now."
It wasn't a suggestion.
"They're really sore today," she said. She tilted her head down, pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose.
The silence stretched.
Then — "Fine. Later."
He backed off.
---
She didn't use the drops that night.
Or the next morning.
Or the day after that.
Four days passed.
And something changed.
The light through the window looked — different. Sharper around the edges. The blurry line where the curtain met the wall started to hold its shape.
Before, she could only see outlines within three inches of her face.
Now it was more like a foot, maybe a little further.
Her heart hammered so hard she pressed her palm flat against her chest.
If the drops were helping her, stopping them should've made things worse.
But things were getting better.
Which meant —
She didn't finish the thought. Couldn't.
---
Isabella grabbed her cane.
She didn't tell the driver. Didn't call Julian. Didn't go to the clinic Julian always took her to — the one he picked, with the doctor he found, on a street she couldn't navigate alone.
She took a taxi.
"Take me to an eye clinic. Not St. Andrews. A different one."
The cab smelled like pine air freshener and cigarette smoke. Her hands were freezing.
The waiting room had hard chairs and the sharp bite of disinfectant. She held the eye drop bottle in her lap with both hands, like if she squeezed hard enough it might confess on its own.
The doctor called her in.
Bright light. A scope pressed close to her face. The doctor's breathing, steady and clinical.
Then it changed.
"Ms. Von Croft."
His voice dropped.
"What have you been putting in your eyes recently?"
"Eye drops. My husband gets them for me."
"Do you have a prescription?"
She held out the bottle.
He took it. Opened it. Brought it close to his face.
He went quiet.
"This isn't eye medication."
Isabella's fingers dug into the armrest.
"The level of optic nerve damage you're showing — this doesn't happen from disease alone. You'd need direct chemical exposure. Repeated. Over a long period."
The room tilted.
"Chemical…?"
The doctor set the bottle down carefully, like it might bite.
"This is a veterinary anesthetic compound. In high concentrations, it attacks the optic nerve directly. Shrinks it. Kills it."
She couldn't feel her hands.
"This was applied daily?"
She nodded. Barely.
"For how long?"
"Three years."
The doctor sat back. He rubbed his face with both hands.
"Three years. Jesus Christ."
He looked at her again.
"Where did you get this?"
She didn't answer.
"Ms. Von Croft, this is not meant for human use. Whoever gave this to you — "
She stood up.
The chair scraped loud against the floor.
"Ms. Von Croft!"
She was already at the door. Hands shaking, finding the handle by feel. The hallway wobbled. Too bright, too loud, too much all at once.
She made it outside.
The cane hit the sidewalk at wrong angles. Her foot caught on a curb edge.
She went down hard.
Her knee hit concrete. Her palm scraped against something rough and wet.
"Watch it!"
Someone yelled behind her. A car horn blasted from the street.
She sat there on the ground, hand on the pavement, breathing through her teeth like an animal.
---
A black sedan rolled past. Slow.
Inside, Sara held her phone against her ear.
She'd seen it all. Isabella stumbling out of a clinic that wasn't the usual one. Isabella falling. The bottle clutched in her hand.
"Babe."
Julian picked up on the second ring.
"What."
"She went to a doctor."
Silence on the line.
"A different one. Not Dr. Eisen."
The silence got heavier.
"She brought the drops with her."
She heard Julian inhale. Long and controlled.
"You sure?"
"I watched her run out. She looked like she was about to throw up."
Julian said nothing for three seconds.
"…Got it."
---
That evening.
The study door closed.
Sara was already inside. She didn't sit. She stood with her arms crossed, her back to the bookshelf.
"Just end it, Julian."
"Calm down."
"She knows. She literally walked into a random clinic and handed them the bottle. How calm do you want me to be?"
Julian's voice stayed low. Flat.
"We don't know what the doctor told her."
"Are you serious right now? She ran out of there shaking."
He didn't answer.
Sara dropped her arms.
"If she goes to the police — "
"She won't."
"You don't know that."
"She's blind, Sara. Half-blind. She has no proof. She doesn't even know what's in the bottle."
"The doctor does."
That landed.
Julian exhaled through his nose.
"So what do you want to do?"
Sara's voice changed. Lower. Colder. Like she'd already been thinking about this for a while.
"A fire."
Julian didn't react.
"The house is old. Electrical problems. Bad wiring in the east wing — everyone knows that. It's been flagged twice by the insurance company."
Still nothing.
"One accident. Done. She goes, everything stays with you, and nobody asks questions."
Julian leaned back. The chair creaked.
Quiet filled the room for a long time.
Then he spoke. Slowly. Like he was reading something off a page only he could see.
"I already upped the insurance. Last month."
Sara smiled.
Isabella stood on the other side of the wall.
She hadn't breathed in forty seconds.
Her back was pressed against the cold plaster. One hand over her mouth. The other gripping the strap of her bag so hard the leather dug into her palm.
The hairpin was in her pocket. The eye drop bottle was in her bag.
And now she had a timeline.