Chapter 3

The sterile smell of antiseptic bites at my nose as I rush down the hospital hallway, my suitcase trailing behind me like a shadow. The weight of last night hangs heavily on my chest, pressing down with every step, threatening to crush me.

My mother’s text is etched in my mind, the urgent call pulling me from one heartbreak and into another. When I reach the reception, I spot Dr. Mensah. His expression is grim as he steps out of my mother’s room, and my stomach twists.

“Dr. Mensah,” I gasp, my voice thin with exhaustion. “How is she?”

He looks at me for a moment, the furrow in his brow deepening. “Isabelle, I’m glad you came quickly. Your mother’s condition is worsening. We need to increase her treatment regimen, but that also means higher costs.”

The room tilts, the weight of his words crashing into me. “I understand,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “But what about the funding from my—” I stop, the words catching in my throat. “From Damion? The arrangement we had should cover this.”

Dr. Mensah’s expression hardens slightly, as though bracing himself. “I’m sorry, Isabelle. Mr. Ryder’s funding was withdrawn as of last night.”

The words feel like a slap. “Last night?” I whisper, disbelief clawing at my chest. “Are you sure?”

He nods solemnly. “I assumed you were aware. We need to know if you’ll be able to continue covering the expenses.”

I swallow hard, tears stinging my eyes. “Yes, of course. Don’t worry, I’ll get the money. Please, just do whatever you need to keep her comfortable.”

A flicker of relief passes over his face, and he squeezes my shoulder gently. “I trust you, Isabelle. But time is of the essence. I’ll let the nurses know we’re proceeding with the treatment.”

I nod, a tight smile pulling at my lips, though it feels more like a grimace. As he walks away, I exhale shakily and push open the door to my mother’s room.

The soft beeping of machines and the scent of medicinal antiseptic fill the air. Vivian Everett lies propped up on the bed, her once vibrant hair now a thinning halo of gray. Her eyes brighten when they meet mine, despite the hollowness that shadows her face.

“Izzy,” she says, her voice raspy with exhaustion. A fit of coughing racks her body, and I rush to her side, setting down my suitcase.

“Mom, you shouldn’t be talking so much,” I say softly, pressing her frail hand between mine.

Her gaze shifts to the suitcase behind me, a worried crease forming on her forehead. “Why do you have that bag? Were you going somewhere?”

I hesitate, the lie forming and dissolving in my mind within seconds. Should I tell her? No. She doesn’t need to know about Damion, about Kaia, about everything that’s falling apart.

“I… was planning to take a short trip,” I say, forcing a smile. “But it doesn’t matter now. You’re my priority, Mom.”

Her eyes search mine, filled with the quiet wisdom only a mother possesses. “Izzy, don’t sacrifice everything for me. I know things have been hard on you and Damion.”

His name is a knife twisting in my chest, but I force my expression to remain calm. “Don’t worry about me, Mom. You just need to focus on getting better.”

A wistful smile tugs at her lips. “You know, if your father were here, he’d be by your side through all of this. He was a fighter. You are, too. You got that from him.” Her gaze softens, distant. “I miss him every day.”

A lump forms in my throat. “I do too,” I whisper. Memories of my father flood my mind—his steady presence, his unwavering support. He had a way of fixing everything, of making me believe that no storm was too big to weather.

She sighs, squeezing my hand weakly. “Izzy, you’re stronger than you know. Whatever it is you’re carrying, whatever pain… it’s okay to share it. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

I blink back tears, unwilling to tell her the truth. That Damion has cast me aside, that the life I fought so hard to build has crumbled overnight. “I’ll be okay, Mom. I promise.”

She closes her eyes, her chest trembling with a soft sigh as she drifts into a restless sleep. I sit beside her, letting the silence seep into me.

The morning light filters through the blinds, exhaustion dragging at my limbs. I can’t break down now. I won’t.

Later that day, I find myself standing in front of Damion’s company. The building looms over me like a fortress, its glass façade reflecting the storm brewing within me. My fingers shake as I push open the doors, but I straighten my spine and step inside. I’m not here as Damion’s wife. I’m here as a woman determined to survive.

The familiar hum of phones ringing, the murmur of voices—it all brings back memories I wish I could erase. But I push them aside, focusing on why I’m here. I need this job, no matter the cost to my pride.

The receptionist glances at me, her eyes widening slightly before she quickly schools her features. I offer her a curt nod and head toward the elevator bank, ignoring the stares and whispers that follow me.

The elevator dings, and I see the doors starting to close. “Wait, please!” I call out, breaking into a small jog, my heels clicking against the marble floor. A hand darts out to pause the doors, and I slip inside, breathless.

The air shifts, heavy with an unmistakable tension. I look up, and my heart plummets.

Damion.

He stands at the back of the elevator, his suit impeccably tailored, his presence commanding as ever. His blue eyes meet mine, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before his expression hardens.

The doors close behind me with a soft thud, trapping us in a space too small for the memories that flood back in an instant. My heart hammers in my chest, each beat a painful reminder of what was and what will never be again.

“Hey,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” he replies, his tone formal, distant.