I stared at him. "You'd do that?"
"If that's what you want." He reached out and took my hand, his fingers warm against mine. "I love you, Monika. I will always love you. But I won't keep you here if you want to leave."
Nathan stepped forward, his eyes dark. "I won't let you go. Not without a fight."
"Nathan—"
"She's mine, Father. She's always been mine. You just got to her first."
"This isn't about ownership." Aleksander stood, facing his son. "This is about what she wants."
"What she wants is to be loved. Really loved. Not used, not manipulated, not fought over." Nathan turned to me, his voice cracking. "I know I've been terrible. I know I've hurt you. But I love you, Monika. I love you more than I've ever loved anything."
I felt the tears building, hot and sharp, behind my eyes. "You don't love me. You want me. There's a difference."
"Maybe." He knelt beside the bed, his hands on mine. "But I'm willing to learn the difference. If you give me a chance."
I looked at him. At the desperation in his eyes, the raw vulnerability that he'd never shown anyone. I looked at Aleksander, at the love and the guilt and the weight of twenty years of grief.
I looked at the two of them, and I realized that I couldn't choose.
Because choosing one meant losing the other.
"I can't," I said. "I'm sorry. I can't."
They left.
Aleksander kissed my forehead, his lips soft and lingering. He said, "I'll be outside." And then he walked out, his footsteps echoing in the hallway.
Nathan stayed longer. He held my hand, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. He said, "I'm not giving up on you." And then he followed his father.
I was alone.
The room was quiet, the only sound the hum of the machines and the distant murmur of the hospital. I stared at the ceiling, at the white tiles, at the fluorescent light that flickered ever so slightly.
I thought about what they'd said. About choosing. About leaving.
I thought about Gabriel. About the life he'd offered me, the clean slate, the fresh start.
I thought about the cages. The warehouse. The things I'd seen and done and agreed to.
I should run.
I should get up, walk out of this hospital, catch a bus to somewhere far away. I should start over, the way Gabriel had started over. I should become someone new, someone who wasn't Monika Mire, someone who wasn't caught in the web of three men who loved and destroyed in equal measure.
But I didn't.
I lay in the hospital bed and stared at the ceiling and waited.
For what, I didn't know.
But I stayed.
The hours passed.
The sun rose higher, the light shifting across the room. Nurses came and went, checking my vitals, asking me questions I didn't want to answer. I told them I was fine. I told them I wanted to be alone. They left.
Aleksander came back at noon. He brought food—sandwiches, fruit, something that was supposed to be soup. I ate because he was watching, because I didn't want to disappoint him.
