Chapter 19: The Truth in His Hands

The video froze on Roman’s face. 

Pillow in his hands. Pressed over Victor’s mouth. 

Victor’s hands clawed at the air. Then stopped. 

Singh’s phone screen went dark. 

My breath would not come. 

“He killed him,” Singh said. Her voice was quiet. “Roman killed his father.” 

“No,” I said. 

The word sounded broken. Like it did in Interview Room 2 when I saw Roman’s empty chair. 

“He did not,” I said again. 

But the video. 

I saw it. 

Two minutes. Roman held that pillow down for two minutes. 

“Isla,” Singh said. “I have to take this to the DA.” 

“Not yet,” I said. “Please.” 

“He is already under arrest,” Singh said. “Julian filed the guardianship papers. The court will assign a guardian to you by morning. You will lose trust. And if Roman is charged, the morality clause triggers.” 

Julian wins. Even from a jail cell. 

I looked at Roman. At the ventilator. At the man who said he loved me with blood on his lips. 

Because I could not love a man I did not trust. Not again. 

I had to know. 

“Give me ten minutes,” I said to Singh. “Before you call the DA.” 

Singh studied me. Then she nodded. “Ten minutes. Then I do my job.” 

She left. 

The room was quiet. Just the ventilator. Just the heart monitor. 

I sat beside him. 

I took his hand. 

It was warm. Alive. 

“Roman,” I whispered. “I saw it. The video. You and your father.” 

No response. 

“I need you to wake up,” I said. “I need you to tell me it is not what it looks like. Tell me you did not kill him.” 

The monitor beeped. Steady. 

I laid my head on the bed. Next to his hand. 

“I tore up those papers for you,” I said. “I risked prison for you. Do not make me regret it.” 

The door opened. 

I did not look up. I thought it was Singh. 

“It is not what it looks like.” 

The voice was rough. Weak. 

I lifted my head. 

Roman’s eyes were open. 

He was awake. 

He looked at me. Green eyes, clear. No drugs. No confusion. 

“Roman,” I breathed. 

“Hi,” he said. His throat clicked. The ventilator hummed. 

I pressed the nurse call button. “You are awake. Do not talk. Save your strength.” 

He ignored me. “You saw the video.” 

My chest hurts. “Yes.” 

“I did not kill him,” Roman said. 

Relief hit me so hard I shook. 

“Then what was that?” I asked. 

“A mercy,” Roman said. “Not murder.” 

He closed his eyes. Exhaustion pulled at him. 

“Tell me,” I said. 

He opened them again. “Three days ago. Singh called me. Said Victor was dying. Heart attack. He asked for me.” 

Victor asked for him. After everything. 

“I went,” Roman said. “He was in the ICU. Here. Room 412.” 

I remembered. I worked that night. I did not see Roman. 

“He could not talk,” Roman said. “Tubes. But he was awake. He wrote me a note.” 

“What did it say?” 

Roman swallowed. “‘I am sorry. I was wrong. Let me go.’” 

Let me go. 

“Victor was in pain,” Roman said. “Liver failure. Kidney failure. He was not going to make it. He was scared. He asked me to end it.” 

The pillow. 

“He made me promise,” Roman said. “He said he could not live with what he did to you. To me. To your dad. He said he did not want to die alone, with machines. He wanted his son.” 

Tears burned my eyes. 

“He asked you to kill him,” I said. 

“He asked me to let him go,” Roman said. “There is a difference.” 

Was there? 

“Euthanasia is illegal,” I said. 

“I know,” Roman said. “That is why I did not tell anyone. That is why the footage was deleted. I paid for the security tech. I thought I was protecting his dignity. I thought I was protecting you.” 

From what? 

“From the truth,” Roman said. Like he heard me. “If anyone found out, they would say I did it for the company. For the inheritance. They would use it against me. Against you. Against the clinic.” 

Julian did anyway. 

“Why did you not tell me?” I asked. 

“Because I was ashamed,” Roman said. “I hated him. For years. For what he did to you. For what he made me do. And then he asked me to hold his hand while he died. And I did.” 

He looked away. 

“I thought you would see me as a killer,” he said. “Just like him.” 

I took his face in my hands. Made him look at me. 

“I see you,” I said. “I see the boy who took beatings for me. I see the man who married me to protect me. I see the man who changed his will to give me a future.” 

“Isla,” he said. 

“I see the man who took a bullet for me,” I said. “You are not your father. You are not Julian. You are not a killer.” 

His eyes filled. 

“I love you,” I said. “Not because you are perfect. Because you are good. Even when it hurts. Even when it costs you.” 

He leaned forward. Just an inch. The ventilator tube made it hard. 

I kissed his forehead. 

“I love you,” he whispered. “I should have said it ten years ago.” 

“Say it now,” I said. 

“I love you,” he said. 

The door opened. 

Singh. With two officers. 

And Carol. The hospital attorney. 

And a man I did not know. 

“Roman Kade,” the man said. “I am Detective Briggs. Internal Affairs. You are under arrest for the murder of Victor Kade.” 

No. 

“Wait,” I said. “You heard him. It was assisted suicide. Victor asked.” 

“Assisted suicide is still homicide in this state,” Briggs said. “We have a video. We have a motive. You just confessed.” 

To me. 

Because I made him talk. 

Because I needed the truth. 

And now they would use it against him. 

“You cannot,” I said. “He was saving his father from suffering. That is not murder.” 

“Tell it to the jury,” Briggs said. 

Two officers moved toward the bed. 

“Do not touch him,” I said. “He is critical. He cannot be moved.” 

“We will post guards,” Briggs said. “He is not going anywhere.” 

They cuffed him to the bed. 

A plastic cuff. On his wrist. Over the IV. 

Roman did not fight. He looked at me. 

“I am sorry,” he mouthed. 

For what? 

For telling me the truth? 

For trusting me? 

Singh looked at me. Her face was sorry too. 

“I had to call it in,” she said. “I am a cop, Isla.” 

I knew. 

And I was a nurse. 

And I just got the man I loved arrested. 

Briggs turned to Carol. “The guardianship hearing is at 9 AM. Until then, Ms. Monroe cannot make decisions for the patient. She is also a person of interest now. She helped him hide evidence.” 

The blue drive. 

Julian told them. 

They were coming for me next. 

I had 12 hours. 

Twelve hours to prove Roman did not murder Victor. Twelve hours to prove I was not crazy. Twelve hours to save the clinic. 

Or Julian would win. 

I looked at Roman. 

He was watching me. 

“Trust me,” he mouthed. 

I did. 

But trust would not get him out of cuffs. 

I needed proof. 

Proof that Victor wanted to die. 

Proof that Roman did not do it for money. 

Proof that I was sane. 

Where would I find that? 

The door opened again. 

A nurse. Holding a tablet. 

“Ms. Monroe?” she said. “You have a visitor. She says it is urgent. She says she has something for you.” 

“Who?” I asked. 

The nurse stepped aside. 

My mom walked in. 

She was holding a flash drive. 

Not the blue one. 

A red one. 

The one I kept from age fourteen. 

The one I thought held music. 

“I lied,” my mom said. Her eyes were on Roman. Then on me. “About what your father left you. It was not music.” 

She held it out. 

“It was your father’s suicide note,” she said. “And Victor’s confession.”