I gave her a small, tired smile. “It’s fine,” I said quietly, taking the clipboard and signing the papers. My hands didn’t even shake.
When I turned to leave, Loriana’s voice followed me, soft and trembling, perfectly rehearsed. “Rosie! How can you walk away like that? Don’t you love him? He’s fighting for his life in there!”
I stopped at the doorway, the smell of antiseptic thick in the air.
“Don’t I love him?” I repeated, my voice calm but cold enough to cut. “You think love means waiting outside an operating room to prove something?”
She blinked, uncertain now. “You’re his wife. You should—”
“Am I?” I interrupted. The words made her flinch.
She tried to recover, dabbing her eyes with trembling fingers. “Of course you are. Legally, yes, but you can’t just—”
I stepped closer, close enough to see her reflection tremble in my eyes.
“Legally?” I echoed with a faint smile. “Then maybe from now on, you can have that title too. Consider it a gift.”
She froze. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m tired of holding on to something that doesn’t want to be held,” I said. “You already have his love, his loyalty, his name whispered on his dying breath. Why not take the paperwork too?”