I stand outside the door for a second, hand on the handle, giving myself one breath to get it together.
Then I go in.
Bella is half sitting up, pillows shoved behind her back, hair a mess, hospital gown hanging off one shoulder. She looks tiredand pale, but her eyes go straight to me the second I step in, like she’s been waiting.
“How’s your head?” I ask.
“Feels like someone hit me with a metal object in a hospital bathroom,” she says. “So, you know. Great.”
I huff out a laugh and come closer. Lily is still asleep in the bed beside her, curled on her side, IV taped neatly to her hand. I check her forehead on instinct.
Bella watches my hand on Lily’s hair, and something in her face softens.
“You look worse than I do,” she says quietly.
“I’ve had a long night,” I say.
She hesitates. “Selene said you’re running out of time.”
Of course she did. I pull the chair closer to her bed and sit, elbows on my knees. “Selene likes dramatic phrasing,” I say. “But she’s not wrong.”
Her fingers twist in the blanket. “You’re still planning to send us away.”
It isn’t a question. I nod. “Yeah.”
She swallows. “When?”
“Soon.” I’m not giving her a time. If something goes wrong, I don’t want her counting down with me.
She looks at me for a long moment. “I don’t want to go,” she says.
“I know.”
“It’s not just because I’m scared,” she adds, voice tight. “It’s because…I finally feel like things make sense. As messed up as it all is, being here with you and Lily…” She glances at the sleeping kid. “It feels like something I thought I’d never have.”
That hits harder than I want it to.
“You’ll still have her,” I say. “That’s the part that matters.”
“It’s not the same.” Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t look away. “You keep talking like you’re not part of this equation.”
“I’m the part that makes it dangerous,” I say. “If you hate me for sending you away, I can live with that. If she hurts you because I kept you close, I can’t.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t hate you.”
“You should,” I tell her.
“I know.” A small, shaky laugh slips out of her. “But I don’t.”
There’s a quiet between us.
“I remember some of what happened,” she says eventually. “In the parking lot.”
My chest tightens. “Yeah?”
“I remember you shouting,” she says, eyes dropping to her hands. “I remember you sounded…scared.”
I look away. “You had a knife in your hand and blood all over you. Scared seemed appropriate.”
