“This is my mate and Luna,” he’d say, his tone proud and gentle. “She’s pregnant. Take good care of her.”
Not me. Never me.
I just watched. Quiet. No tears. No questions.
What was the point?
People who really want to leave… they don’t waste time saying goodbye.
...
The days passed. Cold, slow, empty.
Sometimes, when Drake was with Chiara, I’d quietly make a call.
“Hello… it’s me,” I’d whisper. “How’s the process going? When can I leave?”
“Soon, Ms. Brightman,” the agent would reply. “We’re almost done. Just a little longer.”
And I waited.
On the day I was discharged, I finally got the message.
“Ms. Brightman, your documents will be ready by the morning after tomorrow.”
I stared at the words for a long time.
Then I smiled.
For the first time in… I don’t even know how long.
Finally.
Drake paused beside me, one hand still supporting Chiara. He looked at me like something caught him off guard.
“Chloe… you’re smiling,” he said quietly. “What happened? Did something good come up?”
I shook my head lightly. “Nothing. I just… felt a little better.”