And I had; I like math, and I fell in love with the comfort of it years back. All the late nights memorizing formulas and working through problem sets created the foundation for the life I want, piece by piece, beneath the watchful eyes of my family. My professors don't care that I'm Connor Quinn's daughter; they only care if I can solve the equations.
"You are such a nerd," Moira says with affection.
"Maybe." My fingers fidget with the hospital blanket. "But what's life if you can't live it?"
That's the thing my family never understood. I'm not scared of dying, that's an occupational hazard when you're born a Quinn. What terrifies me is not living, not making choices that matter to me.
For years, they've tried controlling every aspect of my life. Which schools I attended, who I could be friends with, what I should study. Always with the same excuse: protection, safety, and family loyalty.
But in protecting me, they've forced me to surrender pieces of myself. My independence. My choices. My future.
"I have dreams, you know," I say quietly. "And that stupid calculus exam was part of them."
Moira's eyes soften. "I know you do."
Eden steps closer to me. "Fee, I was serious about submitting a medical excuse for your calculus final."
"That's something our families can arrange easily," Moira adds.
"No. I'd like to do it on my own. Not with help from the family."
Moira gives me a look I know well, the one that says I'm being stubborn for no reason.
"It's not about being difficult," I say.
"Or stubborn..." Moira replies.
"It's just...school is the one thing that's truly mine. Where I earn things myself."
"Okay, no family help, but you know we'd have to lie on the medical excuse, right? For obvious reasons," Eden says.
"That's okay. That's help I can accept. I'm not denying what our families do, or what we sometimes have to do."
"Severe gastroenteritis with dehydration requiring IV fluids?" Eden suggests with a straight face.
We all laugh at the absurdity of our reality, momentarily bright in the sterile hospital room.
"Perfect," I reply.
"I'll draw up the paperwork, and the doctor can sign it," Eden promises. "And Fee? I respect wanting something you've earned."
I squeeze her hand gratefully. In our world, where everything comes with strings attached, where family connections open every door, there's something pure about struggling through a difficult problem alone, about sitting in a classroom where my last name doesn't matter, where only my understanding counts.
That's what I'm fighting to protect, not just my life, but my right to build one that means something to me.
The clock on the wall says it's 4 PM. Anton's been gone since yesterday.
I keep glancing at my phone, checking for notifications that aren't there. The screen remains stubbornly blank, no texts, no calls, nothing from Anton.
"Has one heard from any of these men?" I ask.
Moira shakes her head. "Lorenzo texted earlier this morning. They were still handling things."
"Handling things. Such a neat, tidy phrase for something I suspect is messy beyond imagination."
"You know you can text him too," Moira points out, watching me check my phone for the twentieth time.
I set my phone down with a sigh. "I don't want to be the clingy type. It's barely been over twenty-four hours."
