Chapter 2

The words burned into me long after I’d set the letter down.

CHOOSE YOUR SIDE, JANE.

I read it again and again, hoping it would somehow make sense if I stared hard enough. It didn’t.

The landlord had been cruel, yes, but he wasn’t the type for games. The handwriting was too deliberate, too sharp. This wasn’t from him.

And it wasn’t from the man who had swindled me either. He’d already taken everything, my savings, my faith in people, maybe even my pride. He wouldn’t bother with anonymous threats.

So who?

I shoved the paper back into the envelope, hands trembling. The office felt colder than usual, as if the drafty old building itself had been watching me all along. Shadows stretched along the walls, too long, too dark, and suddenly I couldn’t stand being there another second.

I grabbed my bag, flicked off the useless flashlight, and locked the door behind me. The envelope stayed in my pocket, heavy against my hip, as if mocking me with its silence.

By the time I stepped into the night, the city was alive with horns and chatter, but it all blurred together. My mind was still stuck on those four words.

Choose my side for what?

And who exactly thought I had any sides left to choose?

I needed air. I needed comfort. I needed to see Dad.

The thought hit me with urgency, the way a drowning person gasps for oxygen. I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t go back inside that silent office. The only place that made sense was the hospital, even if it carried its own kind of pain.

So I headed there, clutching my bag tight as I walked through the buzzing streets. Neon lights blinked above me, strangers rushed past, and yet I felt completely alone, as if the city had swallowed me whole.

By the time I pushed through the sliding glass doors of the hospital, the familiar antiseptic smell had already wrapped around me. It always clung to my clothes, no matter how many showers I took. It was the scent of waiting rooms, of bad news delivered in hushed voices, of a life I hadn’t chosen but couldn’t escape.

I sat by my father’s bed, my fingers curled around his weathered hand. Once, those hands could fix anything — cars, leaky faucets, even my broken heart when I was fifteen and thought the world had ended because of a silly fight with Daniel Logan.

Now those same hands looked pale, too still, the skin thin like paper.

“Dad,” I whispered, forcing my voice to sound steady, “they’re treating you well here, right? No problems with the nurses?”

His eyelids fluttered open, and for a second I saw the man he used to be, strong, unshakable. Then the weakness returned, pulling him under again.

“I’m fine, Janie,” he murmured. His voice was faint, but his eyes searched mine, reading me the way only a father could. “But you…you’re not sleeping.”

I forced a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “I’ll be okay.”

The truth was, I didn’t know how much longer I could keep this up. The nonprofit was collapsing, the rent was overdue, and now anonymous threats had started finding me. And through it all, I had to sit here pretending to be the strong one because my father deserved peace, not my problems.

I kissed his forehead, lingering for a second longer than usual. “Rest. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

But as I left the hospital room, a thought gnawed at me: what if tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed?

The next morning, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. I had barely slept, my mind replaying the letter over and over.

When I reached the office, the universe decided to twist the knife a little deeper.

My landlord was waiting.

“Miss Riley,” he said with a smirk that made my stomach churn, “I hope you’ve had time to reconsider my offer.”

“I told you already,” I snapped. “I’m not selling.”

He leaned against the doorframe like he owned the place, which, technically, he almost did. “Then you’ll be out by the end of the week. Unless, of course…” His eyes flicked to me, sharp and predatory. “You’re willing to negotiate other terms.”

Heat rushed to my face. “Get out.”

He shrugged, unfazed. “Your choice. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He left the eviction notice taped to the door, bold red letters screaming FINAL.

The day spiraled downhill from there.

At noon, the power was cut. The kids who came by for tutoring sat in the dark until I had to send them home, their confused faces breaking my heart.

At three, I checked my account balance — still empty. The swindler who had promised me “guaranteed funding” had disappeared, leaving me with nothing but overdraft fees.

By five, the office felt like a graveyard. No lights. No laughter. Just silence.

I slumped at my desk, burying my face in my hands. I couldn’t cry anymore; the tears had run out days ago. All that was left was a hollow ache and the faint buzz of panic in my chest.

Maybe this was it. Maybe I wasn’t cut out to save anyone. Maybe I had failed.

A sharp knock on the door jolted me upright.

I groaned. “If that’s the landlord again, I swear…”

But when the door swung open, it wasn’t him.

It was the last man I ever expected to see standing in my office again.

Daniel Logan.

His suit was tailored to perfection, his expression unreadable, but those eyes, those impossibly blue eyes that once promised me forever, locked onto mine.

“Hello, Jane,” he said.

And just like that, the ground shifted beneath me.