The Three Who Chose Me-Chapter 45: The Weight of the Truth

Josie

I wished I hadn’t said anything.

The second the words left my lips, I regretted them. They hung in the air, heavy and accusing, and I wanted nothing more than to swallow them back, to pretend I hadn’t said Michelle’s name at all. Especially not to Marcy.

The look on her face said everything. Her features froze mid-emotion—eyes wide, lips parted like she’d just caught her breath and didn’t know what to do with it. There was no relief in her gaze, no comfort, just a dawning horror, edged with disbelief.

I turned to face the wall, curling into myself. Maybe if I stayed like this, maybe if I didn’t look at her, the moment would pass. Maybe she wouldn’t ask me to explain.

But Marcy wasn’t like that.

She shifted on the bed, and I felt her hand lightly touch my shoulder, coaxing. "Josie," she said gently. "Sweetheart, what did you just say?"

I clenched my jaw, not turning. "You heard me," I whispered, voice flat. "I’m not repeating it just so you can pretend like I’m making things up."

Her fingers tensed on my shoulder. "That’s not what I’m doing," she said softly. "But this isn’t the time for vague accusations. I need you to tell me exactly what you meant. What happened with Michelle?"

I swallowed, the air around me suddenly too thick, too loud. The beeping of the machines, the low hum of lights, even the rhythm of my breathing felt intrusive.

"I don’t want to talk about it," I murmured.

But I knew I had to.

I was about to force myself to speak when I saw a shadow shift by the door—and then I saw her.

Michelle.

My breath caught. My back straightened like someone had shoved a rod of ice down my spine. My hands started to tremble before I could stop them.

"Josie?" Marcy asked, alarmed. "What is it—?"

I couldn’t even point. But Marcy followed my wide-eyed gaze to the door and turned sharply, her entire posture changing as she stood. Her shoulders squared, her voice turning sharp and commanding.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Michelle?" Marcy snapped.

Michelle stepped into the room with that same smug, composed mask she always wore, but this time it cracked with a sneer. "Relax," she said coolly. "I was just checking on her. She’s a little delicate these days, isn’t she?"

"Get out," Marcy barked.

Michelle’s eyes narrowed. "Oh please. Don’t tell me you’re buying whatever pity story she’s spinning now."

Josie, breathe.

I was trying to keep my breathing steady, but my body wasn’t listening. My heart pounded. My skin prickled. It felt like every word Michelle spoke was slicing through layers of healing that hadn’t had a chance to take hold.

"She’s trying to turn you all against me," Michelle continued, ignoring Marcy’s glare. "She wants the Alphas wrapped around her little finger. She always has. That’s what this is about."

Marcy moved toward her. "You’ve said enough—"

"She’s lying!" Michelle shouted, cutting her off. "You don’t know her like I do. She’s not the victim here. She just wants attention. That’s why she said what she did."

My stomach twisted. Shame flushed through me, even though I knew I’d done nothing wrong. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even speak. My body was too busy reacting to the storm in front of me.

"She’s just jealous," Michelle hissed. "She knows she’s not good enough for them."

"Enough!" Marcy roared, stepping between us completely. "You need to leave right now, or I’ll have the guards drag you out myself."

Michelle’s eyes flicked to me, and something cruel twisted her mouth. She mouthed something—something I didn’t quite catch at first, but it landed like a stone once I understood.

Keep. Your. Mouth. Shut.

I flinched.

Marcy didn’t see it. She was too busy pushing Michelle toward the door, her tone feral. "You don’t get to waltz in here and intimidate someone who’s just survived an attack. You’ve crossed the line, Michelle."

Michelle scoffed. "Oh please—she cries every time someone raises their voice. How is that surviving anything?" frёewebηovel.cѳm

"Go!" Marcy shoved her harder this time. "Get out!"

Michelle finally retreated, muttering curses under her breath. The door slammed behind her with a loud thud.

The second she was gone, I broke down completely.

I was already trembling, but now the sobs came—full, body-wracking sobs that left me gasping. Marcy rushed back to the bed, grabbing my hands, her voice sharp with panic.

"Josie, breathe. Hey, look at me. Look at me. You’re okay. You’re safe."

"I’m not," I choked. "She was right here. She—she could’ve—what if she—"

"Shhh, no. No one is hurting you again. Not on my watch."

The door burst open again, and the doctor rushed in, clearly responding to the noise.

"Is she okay?" he asked quickly, eyes scanning the room.

"She’s having a panic attack," Marcy said breathlessly. "We need to calm her down."

The doctor moved to my side, kneeling beside the bed. "Josie, it’s okay. You’re in the clinic. You’re safe. No one can hurt you here."

I couldn’t hear him through the ringing in my ears. The words came faintly, like from underwater. But the hands—his and Marcy’s—they anchored me. Grounded me.

I focused on the touch. The warmth. The steady pressure of Marcy rubbing my back and whispering soothing words. The doctor telling me to breathe in, then out. Slowly. Again.

Eventually, the world came back into focus.

My body still trembled, but the panic was duller now. Quieter.

The doctor adjusted something in the monitor beside me and said, "She’s stable for now. I’ll come back and check on her later."

He gave Marcy a long, pointed look, then left us alone.

I stared at the ceiling. I felt hollow.

Marcy sat beside me again. She didn’t speak for a while, just stared at the door.

And then, in a low voice, she asked, "You’re not going to tell me what that was about?"

I didn’t answer.

She looked down at me and let out a frustrated breath. "Josie, you’re not doing anyone any favors by staying silent. If Michelle did something to you, then you need to say it."

I turned my face away again. My lips were sealed. I didn’t want to talk. Not again. Not now. It hurt too much.

Marcy stood, pacing. "You can’t do this," she said, voice shaking. "You can’t keep shutting down every time someone gets close to the truth. If you won’t talk to me, I’ll go get the Alphas. Maybe they’ll have better luck."

I stiffened.

"No," I whispered. "Please, don’t."

Marcy turned on her heel, her eyes narrowing. "Why not? Scared they’ll make you tell the truth?"

I didn’t answer that either.

But she saw it on my face—read the panic in my eyes, the dread coiling under my skin.

She exhaled loudly and sat back down beside me. "Fine," she said tightly. "But you’re going to have to tell someone eventually. This isn’t going to go away."

I stared at the wall.

My throat ached, dry and raw.

"I need water," I whispered.

Marcy stood to get it.

"And Marcy..." I said softly, just as she turned.

She looked back at me.

"Sit down," I said. "Because I need to tell you everything."