After Eric's phone call with Derek and Evelyn in the garage, he stood staring into space, a cold knot tightening in his chest. He wondered how Claire would react to Sandra's arrest. Since their last meeting at Evelyn's, Claire had been a shadow of her former self, rarely speaking or smiling. She constantly stared into the distance, and he knew this was affecting her far more than she let on. He knew arresting Sandra was the right thing to do, but worried about the impact on Claire and their marriage.

He sighed deeply and returned to the bedroom, finding Claire already in bed. As he climbed in, she shifted, turning to face him, her eyes wide and worried in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. "Is Evelyn okay?" she asked softly, her voice trembling with anxiety.

Eric forced a reassuring smile, though his own unease was evident in his eyes. "Yes, everything's fine. They're handling it. You don't need to worry…"

"How can I not worry? If the situation were reversed, and Evelyn had done what Sandra did, wouldn't you be worried? Wouldn't you be anxious constantly?" Claire asked, frustration creasing her brow as she sat up.

Eric sighed, reaching for her hand, but she pulled away, folding her arms tightly. "I understand, Claire. I really do."

"No, you don't. Don't say you do if you don't." Her voice was firm, laced with a stinging anger.

"Claire…"

"No one understands how I feel, Eric. You can't possibly understand how I feel as a mother," she said, her gaze dropping to the comforter. She took a shaky breath. "Maybe it's best we just… go to sleep. There's nothing left to say." Without waiting for a response, she lay back, turning her back to him.

Eric hesitated, watching her for a moment before accepting her silence. He knew when she was finished talking. He wished he could do something, but didn't know what. He switched off his bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. He felt Claire roll further away. He lay still, listening to her breathing until it evened out, signaling—or so he thought—that she was asleep. After several minutes, he fell asleep. Claire, however, slipped quietly from under the covers.

She moved stealthily across the room and out the door, closing it softly behind her as she went to Sandra's bedroom. Regardless of the situation, Sandra was her daughter, and she felt obligated to try and rescue her.

Down the hall, Sandra paced restlessly, unable to sleep due to anxiety over the events of the evening and awaiting a call from the hitman regarding Evelyn. She needed to end everything.

When she heard soft footsteps outside her door, followed by a gentle knock, she quickly jumped onto the bed, closed her eyes, and pulled the covers around her shoulders. There was no response. The door creaked open, and Claire entered, her silhouette framed in the faint hallway light.

Claire moved carefully, as if not to wake her daughter. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she gently brushed stray strands of hair from Sandra's face, tucking them behind her ear. A single tear slipped down her cheek, landing softly on Sandra's arm.

Sandra's eyes fluttered open, feigning sleep. But seeing her mother's tears, she sat up, alarmed. "Mom? What's wrong?"

Claire's lips parted, but no words came at first. She swallowed. "Sandra… you're breaking my heart. Again and again. My heart… it's shattered."

"Me? What are you talking about? What did I do?" Sandra asked, confused, wondering if her mother knew about her actions.

"Evelyn told me about your conversation. You told her why you hated her…"

Sandra scowled. "Is that why you're here? Because of Evelyn?" She scoffed. "You're crying over her? In the middle of the night?"

Claire's shoulders slumped, her pain deepening. "It's not just about Evelyn, Sandra. It's about you. The things you've said, the way you've behaved… it's tearing me apart."

Sandra's expression twisted with bitterness. "So you're here to take her side, then, as usual. You always side with Evelyn. What kind of mother are you? Why can't you be like other stepmoms?"

Claire shook her head, struggling to remain composed. "Sandra, you're wrong. I'm here because I care about you more than you can understand. But this hatred… it's consuming you. It's not Evelyn's fault."

Sandra glared, crossing her arms. "Then it's your fault. Why don't you ever take my side? Can't you see I'm doing this for us? I want a better life. I want Dad to be proud of me. I want to inherit the family magazine. But you—" Her voice cracked. "You don't seem to care. You're content with whatever scraps you're given. Why aren't you ambitious? Why don't you want more?"

Claire's eyes filled with sadness. "Do you even remember your father? I mean, your biological father?"

Sandra blinked, surprised. "Why are you bringing that up?"

"Because," Claire whispered, "I see so much of him in you. The ambition, the need to win at all costs… the greed." She paused, her hand trembling as she placed it on Sandra's shoulder. "I don't want you to end up like him. You seem to be headed there already."

Before Sandra could respond, her phone rang. Claire's eyes darted to it, and before Sandra could reach it, Claire snatched the phone.

"Mom! Give it back!" Sandra lunged, desperation in her eyes. She couldn't let her mother see what she was up to.

Claire held the phone firmly, her knuckles white as Sandra's fingers clutched her wrist. Sandra shoved her mother harder than intended.

Claire stumbled backward, losing her balance. Her head hit the floor with a sickening thud.

Time seemed to stop. Sandra froze, staring at her motionless mother. Blood trickled from a gash on Claire's temple, pooling on the carpet. Shock and horror contorted Sandra's features. Then, reality hit, and she screamed.

Eric, startled awake by the scream, threw off the covers and raced down the hall. He didn't find Claire in bed.

Reaching Sandra's bedroom, he stopped short: Claire lay on the floor, pale and still, a dark red stain spreading beneath her head.

"Sandra…" he choked out. "What… what did you do?"

Sandra stumbled back, her hands shaking, babbling incoherently. Eric pushed past her, kneeling beside Claire, pressing his fingers to her neck. Relief flooded him as he found a faint pulse. "Honey, hold on," he murmured, his voice cracking. He fumbled for his phone, dialing emergency services, his hands trembling as he gave their address.

His gaze drifted to Sandra, who stood frozen, watching him with wide, tear-filled eyes as paramedics arrived and carefully lifted Claire onto a stretcher.

As they wheeled her away, Sandra's legs gave way, and she sank to the floor, her tears flowing freely.

Eric turned to her, his face a mixture of anguish and anger, struggling to comprehend what had happened. Sandra could only stare, numb with shock and disbelief, the weight of her actions crushing her.