LOGIN"On whether you still love him," Malcolm said quietly.The question hung there, unembellished, suspended in the warm afternoon air like something too fragile to touch without consequence.Petra didn't answer. She didn't look away either. Something flickered across her face — too brief to name, too honest to hide, gone almost as quickly as it appeared but not quickly enough to escape the notice of the two men watching her closely. It was enough.Dr. Ken exhaled slowly, the sound carrying a weight that suggested he had been holding it in for longer than the conversation itself had lasted. "Petra," he said, softening his tone, his voice taking on the careful gentleness of someone approaching an old wound rather than a new one. "We're your family. It's our responsibility to make sure you're okay. That you're making choices that don't reopen wounds you fought so hard to close."She straightened immediately, her spine going rigid against the back of the chair. "No," she said, the word sha
The executive lounge sat slightly elevated above the rest of the hotel grounds, open to the afternoon breeze and framed by glass railings that reflected the soft city's sun.The light caught against the polished surfaces in a way that made the whole space feel suspended somewhere between business and leisure, neither fully one nor the other.Petra sat across from Dr. Ken Livingstone and Malcolm at a low table set neatly with documents, tablets, and untouched drinks, the condensation on the glasses slowly gathering into small pools that no one seemed inclined to notice. The setting was relaxed by design, but the conversation was anything but casual, the underlying formality of it evident in the careful way each of them chose their words.Dr. Ken leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled as Petra finished walking them through the latest project update, his attention fixed and unwavering despite the loose posture he had settled into, the kind of stillness that came from someone who had
Oscar studied her for a moment, his gaze sharp but restrained, watching the small tensions still visible in the set of her shoulders.He nodded slowly, choosing not to press, even though something in her tone unsettled him, something he couldn't quite name but recognized as unfinished, the kind of half-truth that lived just beneath the surface of an otherwise ordinary sentence."Alright," he said quietly. "I'll be in the kitchen."She waited until his footsteps faded before exhaling fully, the breath leaving her chest in a long, unsteady rush, as though she had been holding it since the phone first rang that morning, since the stranger's voice had first delivered news she still hadn't fully absorbed.She sat there a moment longer, staring at the closed door, gathering herself the way she had learned to do so many times before, piecing her composure back together one careful breath at a time until it could bear the weight of the day ahead.By late morning, Petra was already on the road
Petra woke up with a sharp intake of breath.It came without warning, like her body had sensed something before her mind caught up, some quiet alarm firing beneath conscious thought before she could even open her eyes fully.Morning light filtered through the curtains, pale and uncommitted, casting soft lines across the ceiling, the room still holding onto the last traces of night even as the world outside had already begun to stir.For a few seconds, she lay still, listening to the quiet hum of the house, trying to anchor herself in the ordinary, in the familiar rhythm of a morning that had not yet declared what kind of day it intended to be.Her phone vibrated on the bedside table, the sound sharp and insistent against the quiet.She reached for it without thinking, her fingers still slow with sleep, unaware yet of how quickly that stillness was about to end.The voice on the other end was unfamiliar, professional, carefully neutral, the kind of voice trained to deliver difficult in
Dr. Ken Livingstone stood a few feet away, travel fatigue still clinging to him despite his crisp coat, the faint shadows beneath his eyes betraying hours spent on planes rather than in beds, the kind of exhaustion that no amount of coffee could fully erase. They clasped hands briefly, the unspoken respect between them evident in the ease of the gesture, two men who had crossed paths often enough over the years to skip the formalities most people still clung to when greeting one another in a place like this."I got back last night," Ken said, rubbing the back of his neck absently. "London was… intense.""I heard about the summit," Oscar replied, his voice carrying genuine interest despite the fatigue of his own long morning. "Didn't expect to see you here."Ken's expression shifted subtly, something more careful settling into his features, the professional mask he wore so easily slipping just slightly. "I stopped by after hearing about a patient admitted — Pete Jordan."Oscar stiffen
Petra chose the morning deliberately, the way she chose most things now, with intention rather than impulse, understanding that the hour of a decision could shape everything that followed it.Hospitals felt different at that hour; less dramatic, less crowded, stripped of the chaos that usually fed rumours and speculation, the corridors still holding onto the last quiet of the night before the day's visitors arrived to fill them with noise.She walked through the sliding doors of St. Martins Hospital with a composed gait, sunglasses shielding her eyes, her posture steady enough to discourage questions, the kind of walk that suggested purpose without inviting conversation.The receptionist recognised her immediately but said nothing, only gesturing her toward the elevators with practiced discretion, the small courtesy of someone who understood that not every visitor wanted to be seen.She rode up alone, watching the numbers climb, her reflection faint and steady in the polished metal of
Petra caught another woman carelessly flirting with her own husband right in front of her eyes, barely forty eight hours of her postpartum recovery.The baby’s cry pierced through the house again, thin but stubborn, like a tiny alarm that refused to be ignored.Petra stood in the kitchen, exhausted
Elizabeth had marched halfway into the grand hall in a storm of fury, but the moment she reached the center and noticed the cluster of reporters standing only a few steps away, she halted so abruptly that Kevin almost bumped into her from behind.The microphones stretched toward her like thin black
“It’s… it’s alright.”Zoe’s reaction changed so quickly it almost looked rehearsed. Just seconds ago she had flinched at the glass shattering near Pete’s feet, but now her face softened into something that looked like concern.She stepped closer to Pete, her fingers reaching for his hand as though
Martins and Eric flinched at the same time, their bodies jerking backward as if someone had just fired a gun in the room.For a second, nobody moved.The dirty diaper had landed squarely on Zoe’s face. Brown stains smeared across her cheek and nose, sliding slowly downward.Her eyes widened in disb







