Chapter 3

The ground tilted under my foot.

"Your sister...collapsed," Edward repeated, his voice clipped, tight around the edges.

Collapsed. The word rang in my skull, a bell struck too hard.

My body moved before the thought fully formed. Bag in one hand, shoes barely on, I demanded, "What hospital?" My voice broke like it couldn't carry the weight of the words.

"St. Luke's," he said. "She's already in the ER."

I didn't look at him. Couldn't. My pulse raced, chest constricted as if my ribs were closing in on my heart.

We were out the door in seconds. The night hit cold and sharp against my face as we crossed the driveway.

This couldn't be happening. Not again.

"I will drive you, you can't drive in this state," Edward said.

I nodded.

The car roared to life. Edward's usual collected driving vanished; he weaved through traffic with a speed that looked like it could keep my sister alive. His jaw was locked, eyes glued to the road, headlights carving tunnels of light through the rain.

The city whipped by in streaks of red and gold.

"She was fine last week," I murmured, mostly to the storm outside, my voice shaking.

Edward's silence pressed down on me until it hurt.

"She had the surgery," I said again, like saying it enough times would make it true. "She was getting better."

My hands were fists in my lap.

“Sometimes complications happen,” Edward said finally, his voice precise, each word placed too carefully. “The doctors will know what to do.”

His calmness cut like glass. I wanted to scream until he felt what I felt—this rising tide of panic tearing through bone and breath—but I kept silent, staring through rain-smeared windows as the hospital lights finally appeared ahead, a lifeline in the dark.

He parked. I ran.

Inside was chaos: phone ringing, nurses in motion, antiseptic in the air that I have almost gotten accustomed to.

"My sister," I gasped at the desk. "Lily Perez. She was brought in—"

"Waiting area," the nurse said, pointing without looking up. "The doctor will speak with you soon."

Waiting. As if I could sit still.

I stood there, arms clamped around myself like I could hold my heart in place.

Edward stood beside me, expressionless, unreadable. A statue in the bright hospital light.

Minutes dragged like hours. My parents appeared, pale and frantic, my mother's rosary clicking through trembling fingers, my father looking older in the space of a single night.

"Alicia," my mom whispered, pulling me into a hug that hurt. Her hands quivered against my back. "They said she collapsed at school. Just fainted. Then...then she wouldn't wake up."

My chest felt as if someone had scooped it Hollow.

The doctor finally appeared, young and exhausted, charts under his arm.

"Family of Lily Perez?"

We crowded him instantly.

"She's stable," he said first, and my knees nearly buckled in relief.

"But," he added, flipping through papers, "her heart is under a lot of stress. The surgery fixed the defect, but sometimes the body doesn't respond as we expect. We need more tests tonight. She may need another procedure."

"Another surgery?" My mother's voice splintered in the middle.

The doctor nodded. "We'll know more soon."

"Can we see her?" I asked.

"Only one at a time for now," he said.

My mom went first, clutching her rosary like it was the only thing holding her together.

Fifteen minutes later, she returned with red-rimmed eyes, fingers knotted around the beads. "She's so small in there," she breathed, and my father pulled her close.

It was my turn.

The nurse nodded, and my shoes squeaked on the floor as I followed her down the hall.

The door clicked shut behind me.

The world went quiet.

Lily lay on the bed, pale against too-white sheets, an oxygen tube under her nose, the heart monitor tracing green peaks and valleys in constant rhythm. Machines beeped softly, impersonal and indifferent, uncaring of who she was or how much I needed her to stay alive.

I stood rooted at the foot of the bed.

She looked younger somehow. Smaller. Her hair fanned out on the pillow, an IV taped to her arm, bruises blooming dark against her skin.

"Hey," I whispered, my voice shaking. "It's me."

Her eyelids fluttered, barely opening, struggling to surface from somewhere far away.

My throat tightened, the words scraping their way out.

"You scared me," I said, moving closer until I could wrap my hand around hers. It was cold. Too fragile. "You don't get to do this again, okay? Not you. Not now."

The monitor beeped on, unfeeling.

I sat down, leaning close so she could hear me even if she wasn't really there.

"Remember last week? We were going to watch that ridiculous movie you love. The one with the talking dog? I didn't forget. So you have to get better, Lilly. You have to."

She didn't answer.

The nurse came in after a few minutes, checking the monitors, telling me my time was almost up.

I stood, smoothing her hair back from her forehead, blinking hard so the tears wouldn't fall on her.

"I'll be right outside," I whispered again. "I'm not going anywhere."

Except I was. The nurse was already holding the door open, and my legs didn't want to carry me out because leaving felt like giving up.

But I did. I stepped back into the hallway, the lights too harsh after the quiet of her room, my chest heavier than before.

I sat down finally, staring at my hands, at the floor, at nothing.

Edward sat beside me in his usual calm.

"Stop looking at me like that," I muttered.

"Like what?"

"Like you're here out of...obligation."

He didn't say anything.

I turned to him, anger bubbling under the fear. "You blew up my whole life tonight, then you show up here like—like this. Like the perfect husband for the cameras. Which one is it? Do you even care?"

His jaw tightened.

And for a moment, I saw it—a fissure in the mask.

He drew in, voice low. "I care, Alicia. More than you think."

I stared at him, my heart pounding for a whole different reason now.

Before I could speak, the doctor returned, his face serious.

"We've reviewed the scans," he said. "Her heart isn't holding up the way it should. We need to operate. Tonight."

The doctor's words hit like a hammer.

Complications. Immediate surgery.

My mother gasped softly. My father asked the right questions in an unsteady voice while I stood frozen, staring at the doors my sister had just disappeared through. My body felt numb. My mind wouldn't stop spinning.

Edwards' hand landed lightly on my shoulder. It was supposed to be comforting. It wasn't. It was cool when I wasn't. Controlled when I felt like I was falling apart.

"Sit down," he murmured, guiding me toward the chairs lining the wall.

I sat because my legs didn't want to work anymore.

My mother rested against my father, whispering prayers under her breath. Edward was speaking to the doctor again, his tone a quiet murmur, but I still caught the words: high-risk, consent, complications. I signed papers with shaking hands. My name looked foreign scrawled on the line.

Then the doors shut again, and my sister was gone.

I stood and walked to the window.

I didn't notice Edward standing behind me until he spoke.

"You should eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

"You've been sitting here for hours."

"Then maybe I'll sit here for a few more." My voice cracked like thin ice.

He exhaled, long and restrained. "Don't tell me you're surprised. You knew exactly what this marriage was when you agreed to it. Stop pretending otherwise.

"Please." I turned, meeting his eyes for the first time since the hotel. "Not now."

Because if he kept talking in that calm, reasonable way, I would shatter.

Rain veiled the windows, the world beyond dimmed to gray and silver.

Edward's phone buzzed. He stepped into the hallway to answer it. His back was straight, his head slightly bent as he listened. When he returned, his face gave nothing away.

Minutes crawled by. Nurses walked past. The vending machine hummed. My hands went cold.

His phone rang again, and he walked farther, disappearing from view.

When he returned, the muscle in his jaw ticked. "I have to step out for a bit," he said, eyes sliding to me. "Something urgent. I'll have the driver take care of your car."

I couldn't speak. My throat felt raw, empty. Urgent. Not my sister, then. Something else. Someone else? Lucy's smile flashed through my mind uninvited, searing and relentless.

He left. Just like that.

Rain lashed against the windows harder now. The sky had gone dark hours ago, but the lights in the waiting room stayed mercilessly bright.

My parents sat close together, mumbling. I remained by the window because I couldn't sit still anymore. My reflection looked pale and tight-eyed in the glass. Thunder rolled somewhere far off.

Was she going to make it? Would we get another chance, or was this the moment everything tipped over the edge for good?

Another hour passed.

A nurse finally approached. "They've started the procedure. It may take some time."

"Will she be okay?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.

"They're doing everything they can."

The same words they'd used two years ago.

I walked the halls, needing to move, needing air even if there was none.

I stopped at another casement. The parking lot below was a haze of umbrellas and headlights. Rain hammered the roof, an insistent drumbeat that matched my racing pulse.

Please, I prayed silently. Please let her live.

I pressed my forehead to the glass and closed my eyes.

Finally, the surgeon came out, mask dangling from his neck. His face was tired but not grim, and my lungs started working again.

"She's stable," he said. "The surgery was complicated, but we were able to stop the bleeding. She'll need monitoring, but she's young. She has a good chance."

My mother cried quietly into my father's chest. Relief tangled with fear until I couldn't breathe right.

The doctor left. My parents followed the nurse to see her. I turned back to the pane, the rain cold against the glass, watching the parking lot lights blur into halos.

Edward hadn't come back. Not even the driver he said he would send.

I wrapped my arms around myself, staring into the wet darkness, wondering where he was. Who he was with. Why does it hurt so much to care?

The night stretched on, endless and bleak, and when my phone buzzed at last with his name on the screen, I wasn't sure if I wanted to answer.