Absence

The first thing Piper noticed was the machine.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sound beeped from where she stood just inside the ICU, one hand wrapped around the strap of her handbag as if it were the only thing anchoring her upright. Each beep felt like a countdown she wasn’t ready for.

Tubes plunged into Nana from every side, clear and fragile against skin that had lost all its glow. A mask covered her mouth. Her chest rose and fell, but not on its own—the machine did the breathing for her.

“Nana,” Piper whispered, reaching out and closing her fingers around Nana's cold hand.

It felt so wrong.

A nurse moved quietly by the monitor, adjusting dials with efficient practice. Piper’s eyes tracked every motion, desperate for control.

Is she—” Piper stopped, swallowed hard. “Is she awake at all?”

The nurse shook her head softly. “She’s unconscious. We’re keeping her sedated.”

“How long,” Piper asked quickly. “How long has she been like this?”

“Since we brought her in. The seizure was severe.”

The word hit her like a blow.

Seizure.

Her grip on Nana’s hand tightened unconsciously. Images flooded her mind — Nana laughing in the kitchen, Nana humming while folding laundry, Nana scolding her gently for forgetting to eat.

This wasn’t supposed to be her.

“Piper?”

Her head snapped towards the door. A voice cut through the beeping.

“Yes,” she answered immediately. “This is my mother.” Nana was more than a stepmother to her.

A doctor stepped fully into the room, clipboard tucked under his arm, expression careful.

He nodded. “I’m Dr. Andrew.”

She waited. Every muscle in her body went rigid.

“We managed to stabilize her,” he began. “But her kidneys are failing at an accelerated rate.”

Piper’s breath stuttered. “But she was stable a few days ago when I came to see her. They said the treatment was holding.”

“It was,” he said gently. “Until it wasn’t. The toxins built up faster than expected,” he continued.

“Her dialysis is working—she’s stable for now. But she’ll need sessions at least three times a week to keep her alive. Each one is costly, and this is just the beginning. If the payments don't come in today, we cannot continue treatment, I'm sorry."

Her knees went weak. She leaned against the edge of the bed, fingers digging into the sheet.

“I’ll pay,” Piper said quickly, desperation edging into her tone. “I’ll get the money. I just need— I need time.”

"That is something we do not have ma'am. A kidney transplant is her only real chance at full recovery. Surgery, post-op care, medication—it all adds up. I know this is overwhelming, but she can’t survive without continued treatment. You’ll need a plan.”

“How soon,” Piper asked, barely recognizing her own voice.

“As soon as today, if possible,” he said honestly. “We do not have time.”

Her vision dimmed around the edges.

“I…” Her voice cracked. “Okay.”

The doctor nodded, already moving on. “Please inform the desk as soon as possible.”

When he left, Piper stood there for a few seconds longer, staring at Nana’s face, memorizing every line, every familiar curve. She pressed her forehead gently to Nana’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m trying. I swear I am.”

Her shoulders shook.

She turned away before she completely broke.

The hallway outside the ICU was quieter, but no less cruel. The lights buzzed overhead. Someone laughed softly somewhere down the corridor, and the sound made something inside Piper snap.

She made it three steps.

Then the weight hit her all at once. Why was she born for mysery, why did everything about her life end up in shambles?

She sank down against the wall, sliding until she was seated on the cold floor, handbag slipping from her grasp. Her breath came fast, shallow, scraping her lungs.

“No, no, no,” she murmured, rocking slightly. “Please… please…”

Her hands trembled as she pressed them to her mouth, trying to muffle her voice. The pain pulled from somewhere deep inside her chest.

Tears poured freely now, blurring the hallway into streaks of light and shadow.

She sat there for a while, all alone, crying her heart out.

———

Thomas slammed the bedroom door behind him harder than necessary.

The sound echoed, before settling into silence.

He loosened his cufflinks with rough movements, jaw tight, mind still replaying the scene from this morning.

The audacity of it. The humiliation. The way her lips had pressed against his in front of Mildred, in front of everything that mattered.

Unacceptable.

He crossed the room, shrugging out of his jacket, tossing it onto the chair with more force than required. His reflection in the mirror looked unfamiliar — eyes dark, expression unsettled.

He turned away.

His gaze drifted, uninvited, to the other side of the bed. Smooth. Undisturbed. Untouched—not even by Paige—The sheets there were still neatly tucked, as they always were.

Empty.

She had never slept there. Not once.

She had chosen the second guest room from the moment she arrived. Quietly. Without asking. As if she already understood she didn’t belong here.

His brows furrowed.

He stood there longer than necessary, staring at the bed, irritation simmering beneath something else he didn’t want to name.

Where was she.

He dismissed the thought and turned sharply, heading for the hallway. He passed the guest room she’d been using, pausing briefly when he noticed the door slightly open.

He opened it.

The room was untouched. Bed still made. Her shoes lined neatly by the rack. No suitcase dragged out. No chaos. Just absence.

He moved on, steps carrying him to the small studio space she’d claimed. The faint scent of paint still lingered. Canvases leaned against the wall. A half-finished piece sat on the easel, raw strokes unfinished, colors still fighting each other.

She hadn’t left.

So why hadn’t he heard her.

Thomas went walked back through the hallway, pushed the nursery door open with two fingers.

Leo was crying.

The wet sound of a child who had been crying for a while and had no words left to bargain with. It rose and fell unevenly, hitching on itself.

A young cook tried to soothe him, pacing back and forth, murmuring soft words that did nothing to soothe him.

"What’s going on?” Thomas demanded, stepping into the room.

“Sir,” she whispered, relief flickering across her face. “He won’t settle. He's been like this for a while. I’ve tried—”

Pi… Pi…” Leo sobbed between cries, small hands reaching outward when he saw his father.

Thomas reached out and collected the child. "Hey buddy, it's okay. It's okay. I got you." Leo's crying gradually dialled down.

"Daddy? Where's Piper?" Toby asked in a small, worried voice.

He was already awake, sitting upright in his small bed near the window. The blanket had slid down to his waist, His hair stuck up at the back, sleep still clinging to his face.

“She’s not here,” he replied, then turned to the cook, "where's she?"

"She stormed out earlier sir. She said something about a hospital. It looked like she was in a rush." The cook informed.

Thomas nodded, handed the baby back to her. Leo's whimpering had softened to hiccups, catching quietly between breath as he dozed.

“Go back to sleep Toby.” He said, voice rougher than he intended.

Toby didn’t move. “She didn’t come say goodnight.” he said, voice thick with tears. “Daddy, did you make her go away?”

Thomas swallowed. "No. Toby, Piper is not your—” He stopped himself. Changed direction. “She’s not supposed to be here all the time. Now, go to sleep."

He closed the nursery door behind him and walked back into his room. He sat on the mattress and for several minutes peace hovered out of reach, like something deliberately withheld.

This was ridiculous.

He got up, arms crossed over his chest, forcing stillness. Minutes dragged, he strode to the window and stares into the lighted night.

Why was Piper's absence bothering him.

Why had she gone to a hospital without notifying him.

Had the slap from Paige bruised her that badly.

This woman was just a name on a contract. A solution to a problem that required no sentiment.

A woman he'd known barely a month and a woman far beneath his status.

The thought irritated him immediately.

She was entirely replaceable. If she’d decided to leave, that was her problem, not his. He had never asked her to stay. Had never promised anything beyond what was written in ink.

The words sounded right.

They just didn’t settle.

A soft thump echoed somewhere in the house — a door, maybe, or a careless step. Thomas stiffened before he could stop himself, expecting her, then scowled at the reaction.

Pathetic.

He reached for his phone, the screen lit his face briefly.

Nothing.

He dropped it onto the bed with more force than necessary and stood.

No.

He wasn’t doing this.

He wasn’t chasing a woman who meant nothing. Wasn’t unraveling over silence. Wasn’t letting a temporary arrangement crawl under his skin.

Thomas crossed the room, stopped, turned back — once — then cursed under his breath.

He grabbed his keys from the dresser.

He told himself he was only going out to clear his head. That he needed air.

Anything but staying the truth.

He shut the front door quietly behind him.

Outside, the night was calm, almost indifferent. The engine started smoothly. Headlights washed briefly over the driveway, the hedges, the gate.

He was barely out of the gate when a man appeared in front of him. He slammed on the brakes.

“Who the hell are you?” he snapped, voice sharp with fury.