[5 Weeks, 3 Days Coma]
The afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long, skeletal shadows of the hospital window frames across Annie's bed. The room felt colder than usual, the air thin and sterile. The heavy oak door clicked shut with a definitive, chilling sharpness.
Margaret Combs stood at the foot of the bed. She didn't approach immediately. First, she adjusted her silk scarf, smoothing out invisible wrinkles in her designer coat. Her red hair was pinned back in a perfect, rigid bun, not a single strand out of place. She looked like the portrait of a grieving mother to any passerby, but as she turned her gaze toward the girl in the bed, the mask didn't just slip- it dissolved.
Her eyes, usually a warm hazel in Dylan's presence, turned into chips of cold flint.
"Look at you," Margaret whispered, her voice like the sliding of a blade against stone. "Still the center of the universe. Still sucking the air out of every room you're in, even when a machine has to do the breathing for you."
She walked slowly to the side of the bed, her heels clicking rhythmically on the linoleum. She reached out, her gloved hand hovering over the ventilator tube.
For a moment, her fingers twitched, a dark thought passing behind her eyes, before she pulled back with a disgusted curl of her lip.
"You really are your mother's daughter, aren't you?" Margaret hissed, leaning down until her face was inches from Annie's ear.
"Lilah was a thief, too. She stole Dylan's heart with that same pathetic, 'woe-is-me' look you wear. She made him believe she was some fragile flower that needed saving, just like you've done with Ethan. And now, look at the mess you've made. My son is a wreck, my husband is a ghost of a man, and for what? For a girl who was never supposed to come back."
Margaret's voice grew louder, emboldened by the fact that the girl before her couldn't scream, couldn't cry, and couldn't run. This was the moment Margaret had waited for since Annie stepped back into the house five months ago- a moment to speak the truth without the burden of Dylan's interference.
"You think you're so innocent," Margaret sneered, her hand coming down to grip the bedrail so hard her knuckles turned white.
"But you're a cancer, Annie. You moved back here and started digging up things that should have stayed buried. You think I don't see the way you look at me? You think I don't know you can see right through the life I've built? You're a constant, walking reminder of a woman who is dead. You're a shadow in my hallways, a stain on my marriage."
She reached out and roughly brushed a stray lock of black hair away from Annie's forehead. Her touch wasn't maternal- it was a territorial claim.
"The town was right about you four years ago," Margaret whispered, her breath hot against Annie's pale skin. "They thought you wanted to die. And honestly, it would have been so much cleaner if you had. You wouldn't be laying here like a broken doll, and I wouldn't have to watch my husband waste his life praying over a corpse. You're a burden, Annie. A heavy, useless weight around everyone's neck. Ethan Hawthorne is ruining his future because he thinks you're worth saving. He's out there acting like a feral dog, and Kyson... Kyson is actually feeling guilty for realizing you're exactly what I told him you were: a threat."
Margaret let out a short, hollow laugh that sounded more like a bark. "You think you're special because you paint, and your little poems, and hide in the dark? You're nothing. You're a replacement part for a dead woman that Dylan can't let go of. And if you ever do wake up- God forbid- don't think for a second that you're coming back to a home that wantsyou. I've spent ten years making sure that house belongs to me. I've spent ten years erasing Lilah. I won't let a little girl with blue eyes and a tragic backstory take it away."
She straightened up, her face returning to that eerie, calm composure. She looked down at the bruises on Annie's arm- the ones Vanessa and Peggy had left, and a small, satisfied smirk played at the corners of her mouth.
"I know what those girls did," Margaret murmured. "And honestly? I should thank them. They did more to put you in your place than Kyson ever could. He was always too soft, too much like his father... too much like Brandon."
The mention of the name hung in the air, a secret whispered into the void. Margaret's eyes darkened for a split second, a flicker of fear crossing her face before she buried it under a layer of ice.
"You're going to stay in this sleep, Annie. It's better for everyone. If you wake up, you'll just find out that the world moved on without you. Dylan will eventually tire of the hospital bills. Kyson will go back to being the star he was meant to be. And Ethan? Ethan will realize that a girl in a coma can't love him back. He'll find someone who isn't... broken."
Margaret leaned over one last time, her voice dropping to a low, venomous croon. "Die quietly, Annie. Do us all a favor and just stop fighting. It'll be the only humble thing you've ever done."
With a final, disdainful look, Margaret turned on her heel. She paused at the door, checked her reflection in the small window, and wiped a non-existent smudge from her cheek. When she pushed the door open to step back into the hallway, her face was once again the mask of the grieving, devoted stepmother, leaving Annie alone in the cold, humming silence of the room.