Clare sat across from Brooke, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why?” she asked. “Why do this to me?” Brooke stared at the table for a long moment before answering. “It wasn’t supposed to be dramatic,” she said. “It was meant to be slow. Subtle. Gradual enough that no one would question it.” “Question what?” Clare pressed. “That you were struggling,” Brooke said.
“That your body wasn’t keeping up. That you needed help. Supervision.” Her jaw tightened. “Once people start believing that, everything else follows.” She told them everything after that. How Daniel had overheard Clare’s call with her father weeks earlier.