The moment those words escaped her lips, a surge of confusion coursed through me, momentarily eclipsing the pain gnawing at my ribs. I blinked, trying to focus through the fog of painkillers and disbelief. The woman standing before me, dumbstruck and trembling, was someone I had never seen before. Yet, there was something hauntingly familiar about the way she looked at me—as if she recognized a piece of herself in my eyes.
Marcus, oblivious to her reaction, continued spewing venom. “Brenda, what’s wrong with you?” he demanded, his voice dripping with irritation. His words barely registered as my mind raced, piecing together fragments of a puzzle I didn’t know existed.
“Ammani Washington,” Brenda repeated, her voice a trembling whisper. Her eyes, wide and searching, met mine, and in that instant, a silent understanding passed between us—one that transcended words and explanations. She turned to Marcus, her expression hardening. “You didn’t tell me her name.”
