Riven went very still.
“This isn’t very sustainable,” he said.
I frowned. “I know that.”
“I meant it when I made you that offer,” he continued. “It still stands.”
Footsteps moved through the hallway, always heading somewhere urgent. I had worked enough night shifts to know this rhythm, the way everything slowed after visiting hours ended and the real work began.
I leaned against the wall for a second, closing my eyes. My shift had ended ten minutes ago, but my body still felt like it was bracing for the next demand, the next complaint, the next thing about to go wrong.
I hadn’t felt this close to breaking since the day I collapsed.
I waited until nine o’clock before I called my mother.
She answered on the second ring, breathless. "Mireya, sweetheart—are you alright? You sound tired.”
I let out a quiet breath. Of course she could hear it. She always could.
"I'm fine," I said quickly, keeping my voice steady despite how dry my throat felt. “Just a long shift.”
Mom was quiet for a moment. “You said that last time too. Right before you ended up in the hospital.”
My grip tightened around the phone. “That was weeks ago,” I said lightly. “I’m back at work now. Everything’s fine.”
She didn’t sound convinced. “Mireya?—”
“Mom,” I interrupted gently. “I’m okay. I promise.”
Something in her silence told me she didn’t believe me. Not completely.
Then her tone shifted—subtle, but unmistakable. Careful. Guarded.
Something in my chest tightened.
“Mom,” I said more softly. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” she replied quickly. “I'm fine. You just need to rest an?—”
“Mom.”
I heard her sigh, and my heart twisted painfully.
“Gerald came to the apartment,” she said at last. Her voice flattened into something distant and controlled. It was the same tone she used when she told me about her cancer diagnosis. “He came about an hour ago. He was very angry.”
My grip tightened around the phone. “What did he do?”
"He told me to pack whatever I could carry and leave. Said I had twenty minutes."
The words hit my chest, stealing the air from my lungs.
“He didwhat?”
“I tried to explain,” she continued. “I told him about my recovery and you working at the hospital. I told him we just needed time. He didn’t want to hear any of it. He said he would call the police if I was not gone in twenty minutes.”
Guilt and rage and shame twisted together into something unbearable lodged beneath my sternum.
"Where are you now?"
