1.
1.
120—
“Ms. de los Reyes?”
Private security materializes out of nowhere to block my path, two men in dark suits with earpieces, their faces professionally blank.
And then I notice the others.
Of course there’s press. A billionaire getting shot is news.
Photographers and reporters cluster at the end of the hallway, held back by velvet ropes like this is some kind of red carpet event instead of a hospital wing. The moment security says my name, they sense something is about to unfold, and the next thing I know, all cameras are pointed at me.
Flashes explode.
Questions erupt.
I dig my nails into my palms. Fear of being embarrassed tempts me to turn back and just try another time, but after everything that’s happened, how do I even know there will be another time?
And so I swallow hard and muster the courage to keep talking. “Could you, um, pass a message—”
“We apologize.” The security guard’s voice is flat. Rehearsed. “We’ve been told not to interrupt Mr. Lacroix at all costs, as he is currently with his girlfriend.”
His...girlfriend?
He already has...a girlfriend?
My Zacharie...is already someone else’s?
Camera flashes turn into starbursts, bleeding across my vision like watercolors in the rain. The polished floor seems to ripple beneath my feet, and I can hear the reporters shouting questions, but their voices have gone distant and strange, like hearing the world through water.
Did I get it wrong, God?
The thought rises up from somewhere deep and desperate, clawing at the inside of my chest.
Was Zacharie simply meant to be a lesson about being true?
But You...never meant him to be mine?
