001

Abigail’s POV

I’ve never liked the sterile scent and stale air of hospitals. But after years as a nurse, I’d grown used to it. The smell had stopped feeling unbearable—mostly.

The locker room smelled faintly of antiseptic and stale coffee. With trembling hands, I folded my scrubs, a motion I’d repeated countless times. But this time felt different. Like I was packing away pieces of myself.

Who was I kidding? Maybe I was. 

Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them back. I wouldn’t cry here. I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk anyone seeing me become a sobbing mess.

“You did what you were told,” everyone kept saying.

As if that helped.

It didn’t bring comfort. Not when Daniel’s face flashed in my mind—his wide, frightened eyes, his small hand clutching mine, and that moment the light went out of them.

The hospital called it “an unfortunate complication.” His family called it “negligence.” But to me, it was my worst mistake.

I could’ve fought back. I could’ve told them Dr. Keating was the one who barked the order and ignored my warnings. I had tried to tell him that the drug should not be administered to a nine-year-old.

But the truth didn’t matter. The hospital needed someone to blame, and I was the perfect scapegoat.

I slipped my badge into my bag, avoiding the smiling photo. The woman in that picture had hope in her eyes. I didn’t recognize her anymore.

“Abigail?”

The soft voice made me turn. Beth, Daniel’s nanny, standing in the doorway. Her eyes were red and puffy, her blouse rumpled.

“He’s asking for you.”

My throat tightened. Last time. This may be the last time I saw him.

I followed her to the pediatric wing. Daniel’s room was dim, curtains drawn. He sat up in bed, small shoulders squared, trying to be brave. His eyes were unfocused, but searching.

“Abby?” he whispered, breaking me in half.

My insides twisted. It felt like a vice was squeezing my heart. The tears I had struggled to keep at bay were on the brink of falling.

“I’m here, sweetheart.” I sat beside him and took his hand.

“They said you’re leaving. Because of me.”

“No,” I said quickly, voice cracking. “I’m not leaving because of you. The hospital made a mistake, and they’re too scared to admit it.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” His little jaw clenched with fierce certainty, fiercer than any nine-year-old should have to be. “I told them. I’ll keep telling them.”

Despite the ache in my chest, I forced a smile. “You be strong for me, okay? For Beth.”

He squeezed my hand, his grip fragile but unrelenting. “If they hurt you…I’ll hurt myself. I swear I will.”

My heart seized. “Daniel, don’t you ever say that.” I cupped his cheek, guiding his blind eyes toward me. “You’re going to be fine. You’re stronger than anyone I know.”

But guilt ate my insides like acid. Because no matter what he believed, no matter what the truth was, I was the one who pressed the syringe.

And this was my punishment.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, and I turned. Mr. and Mrs. Bentley Watts walk in, looking every inch the elite, rich enough to pay someone to breathe for them.

I sprang up to my feet, bracing myself for whatever was to come.

“You wretch,” Mrs. Watts spat. “Do you have any idea what your recklessness has cost us?”

You’d think a mother whose child had gone blind would be in tears. But no, this woman right here was angry because the news of Daniel going blind was a ‘taint’ to their image.

The absurdity would’ve been laughable, if not for the guilt clawing through me.

I don't bother arguing with her. Daniel was right here. The child was blind, not deaf.

“Not now, Mrs Watts.” 

“Consider yourself lucky,” Mr. Watts said coldly. “I would have had my lawyers serve you papers by now.”

I swallowed hard. I should leave. If I stayed any longer, they’ll say more horrible things. Things that would hurt Daniel.

I crouched beside him again, taking his hand. His face was still, like he knew he didn't matter much to his parents. And that broke me a little more.

“Hey, Danny,” I whispered, forcing a smile. “I’ll come visit, okay? Promise me you’ll listen to Beth.” He nodded. “Say it.”

“I promise to follow Beth’s instructions so I don’t crash.”

That was the Daniel I knew. Still cheeky, even when blind. The thought almost pulled laughter. Almost.

“Good boy,” I said, brushing his hair back. “Goodbye, Daniel.”

I have met many patients in my years of working here at Crown Hill Memorial Hospital. But this kid with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome had really stuck to me.

I turned to Beth. Her eyes were apologetic, like she knew I didn't deserve this. And maybe I didn't. But I couldn't fight these people. They were loaded. And me? I was just a down-on-my-luck nurse.

“Goodbye, Beth,” I said with a tight smile.

And then I walked out. I didn't bother acknowledging Daniel’s parents. They were—for lack of better words—assholes, and they could kiss my ass for all I cared.

With my head held high, I walked out the hospital doors. The hospital and their administration were in the wrong, not me. I won’t let them see me sweat. They could all kiss my ass. I simply did not care.

*****

My ride home was the slowest in the history of car rides. On purpose. Anything faster than 35 km/h, and my palm would do that sweaty thing and my skin would go all clammy.

All I wanted right now was to curl up with a pint of ice cream, put on a sappy rom-com to cry my heart out, and well, figure out my next job move. Because LA isn’t exactly cheap to live in and rent wasn't going to pay itself.

I knew something was off the moment I stepped into the apartment.

The lights were dim. Too dim. 

Luke never liked the lights dim. And there was noise—a faint, breathy sound that didn’t belong to the TV or the old ceiling fan that always hummed when it rained.

For a heartbeat, I thought maybe I was imagining it. Maybe the day had finally caught up to me—exhaustion, caffeine, and wishful thinking making everything blur together.

And then—

What the ever-loving hell?

Slap–slap.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh. And grunting. And moaning. And Luke. And—was that Melanie, our neighbour’s daughter?

I don't move. I don't make a sound. I just stood there, watching like a creep.

Was she seriously moaning like that? Was sex with Luke even that good? She sounded like she was really—

Oh my God. What am I doing?

I shouldn’t be standing here watching my boyfriend and our neighbor’s daughter screw on my couch.

My couch.

The one I’d picked out, bargained for, cleaned, and practically lived on through late-night movie marathons and takeout Fridays.

And that was what did it. Not the betrayal. The couch.

“What the hell, Luke?” My voice echoed through the room.

They jolted apart so fast they nearly fell. She scrambled for the blanket, clutching it to her chest, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Luke froze, half-dressed, face draining of color as if guilt itself had sucked the blood out of him.

“Abigail—” he started, voice strangled, hands half-lifted like he could explain this away.

I just stared at him. At them.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and betrayal. The faint lavender of the candle I’d lit that morning hung mockingly between us.

The whole room felt wrong—like I’d walked into a stranger’s apartment, not mine.

Melanie looked between us, trembling, her mouth opening and closing without sound. Luke looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

And me?

I couldn’t even find the words to match what I felt. Not heartbreak. Not grief. Just disbelief and a rising fury that it had to be on my damn couch.