Chapter 6

By the time I reached the service corridor, sweat had soaked my shirt.

I tried to get to the staff room. There was a chair there. My bag. If I could sit down, I could work out what to do.

Then the floor tilted.

When I opened my eyes, a nurse was fastening a cuff around my arm.

“You're at the hospital, Evie. You collapsed at work.”

A doctor explained that there was internal bleeding. They were preparing an operating room. Someone asked for my insurance information; someone else asked whom they should call.

I'd spent my accessible savings on the deposit for my room in London and the arrangements to get there.

I knew they would treat me. I also knew the bill would come.

I reached for my phone.

Lucas answered over music.

“I'm at the hospital,” I told him. “I need an operation. Can you lend me five thousand? I'll pay you back. I just—”

The music grew quieter. I thought he was going somewhere he could hear me.

Then he sighed.

“Evie. You're not seriously doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Pretending to be sick. Asking for money. Every one of them tried it eventually.”

My fingers had gone numb.

“I thought you were different.”

He sounded disappointed in me.

Yesterday, he'd shown me the custom poker set he'd ordered for a friend's birthday. The price was more than I earned in a year.

I couldn't get enough air to answer him.

The phone slipped. The nurse caught it.

“Sir? This is the emergency department. Are you her next of kin?”

She repeated the question, then lowered the phone.

“He hung up.”

She tried again. He didn't answer.

After surgery, I woke to an empty chair and no missed calls.

Over the next few days, a friend helped me, and I arranged payments with the billing office. Mrs. Alvarez's niece collected me when I was discharged. We had to stop halfway up the stairs.

Lucas had left the country the morning after my operation. Charlotte had chartered a plane for a whale-watching trip.

His messages were photographs: a yacht, dark water, a sunset. Charlotte's diamond resting against his sleeve.

Then a text.

[I'll bring back those chocolates you like. Pick me up at the airport?]

When he finally video-called, he looked relieved to see me propped against my pillows.

“See? You're okay.”

“I had surgery.”

“Don't scare me like that again.”

“Scare you?”

“If you want to test me, just talk to me.”

For a second, I wanted to tell him everything: how frightened I'd been, how the nurse had held my hand because there was nobody else.

Instead, I opened the airline app beneath the call window. I'd already postponed my departure until I could recover and my doctor was satisfied I could travel. The change had cost money I couldn't spare.

“You won't do that again, right?” Lucas asked.

I looked at his face.

“No. I won't.”

After we hung up, I sent one last message.

[Whoever you're with next, Lucas, be kinder to her.]

I didn't wait for a reply.

Three hours later, I was on a plane.

My hands tightened on the armrests as we climbed through cloud. Then the cabin steadied, and sunlight filled the window.

For a year, he'd made me prove how little I needed.

I had finally learned.

I didn't need him.