Emmy:
Morning. I got called into work. I had to go.
Work.
The word hits like a release valve.
Not taken. Not followed. Not touched by my father’s reach.
Just… work.
Relief crashes through me hard enough that I have to brace myself against the counter. I breathe again. For exactly one heartbeat.
Then anger floods in behind it.
She left.
After I told her not to.
I grab my keys and turn right back toward the door. I don’t think. I don’t slow down. I need to see her,now.
The hospital parking lot is chaos, and I add to it, double-parking without a thought. I take the stairs two at a time, ignoring the lift, ignoring the looks, ignoring everything that isn’t her.
The ICU floor opens up in front of me, all glass and fluorescent light.
I don’t hide.
I move like I belong here.
As I pass the nurses’ station, I catch Ryan’s eye. He freezes when he sees me. I give him a slow, deliberate smirk, one that tells him exactly how far out of his depth he is, before I keep walking.
Then I see her.
She’s coming down the corridor, head bowed, fingers absently twisting a loose strand of hair. Unaware. Unprotected.
I step into the nearest empty room and wait.
She passes the doorway.
I move.
My arm hooks around her from behind, firm and sudden, pulling her off balance before she can turn. The door closes behind us with a soft, final click as I guide us into the dark.
She makes a startled sound, sharp, frightened. The sound making me hard.
My hand covers her mouth, steady and controlled, not cruel but absolute. I lean close, my voice low, meant only for her.
“Quiet,” I murmur. “Little Heaven.”
She freezes.
I kiss her neck. My other hand settles at her waist, anchoring her there, not hurting, but not letting go either.
“I told you not to leave,” I say softly, a warning threaded through every word.
The room holds its breath.
And so does she.
