In the hallway, I saw him.
Troy.
He was on a call, his face blank as ever. When he saw me, his eyes widened with surprise—but not relief.
“You’re awake,” he said simply. “Where are you going?”
“Somewhere that’s not here.”
He glanced at his watch. “I have to fly out. Handle a business mess. I’ll bring back something for you.”
That was it. No questions. No apology. No guilt. Just another excuse to run. I couldn’t believe this.
I nodded, even smiled faintly, but inside, something finally broke. Quietly, completely.
I left the hospital and went straight home. The house was exactly as I left it—cold, neat, unloved. I took my time gathering my things, moving slowly, deliberately. I didn’t cry. I’d run out of tears days ago.
Before leaving for the airport, I sent one last message.
To Bianca.
“Meet me.”
She replied within minutes, probably thinking I was coming to beg, to fight, to start another pitiful argument over Troy, but no.
I chose the café near the pier—the one with the wide windows and the sound of the waves crashing just beyond the glass. A place that once felt calming. Today, it just felt final.
“If you’re here to start something, Thalia, I swear—when Troy comes back—”