Chapter 35 False Hope
**Mia’s POV**
The deliveries started at dawn.
First came the Italian silk bedsheets, their fabric so fine it felt like water running through my fingers. The deep purple shade reminded me of twilight skies, of quiet moments I used to spend sketching on the balcony. A small card accompanied them, printed in nice handwriting: “For better sleep.”
By ten, a collection of organic bath products had appeared – lavender–infused soaps from Provence, hand–blended essential oils, bath salts from the Dead Sea. Another card: “For relaxation.”
Noon brought aromatherapy candles, each one hand–poured in crystal vessels that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent. The scents were carefully chosen – chamomile, vanilla, sandalwood. A third card: “For peace of mind.”
I stood in the middle of my bedroom, surrounded by Kyle’s latest attempts at… what? Apology? Compensation? Control wrapped in cashmere and silk?
“Mrs. Branson?” Mrs. Chen appeared in the doorway, her arms full of yet another package. “This just arrived. Shall I—”
“No.” The word came out sharper than intended. I softened my tone at her startled expression. “Thank you, Mrs. Chen, but please… no more deliveries today.”
She hesitated, the package – wrapped in cream–colored paper and tied with an elegant gold ribbon – still cradled in her arms But Mr. Branson specifically instructed—”
“I don’t care what Mr. Branson instructed.” I turned away, unable to look at one more expression of Kyle’s calculated charity. ” Just… send them back. All of them.”
Finally, Mrs. Chen’s quiet footsteps retreated, leaving me alone with my thoughts and Kyle’s expensive attempts at… whatever this was.
My fingers traced the edge of a silk pillowcase. The fabric whispered against my skin, smooth as a promise. Three years ago, such a gift would have made my heart race. I would have spent hours analyzing the meaning behind each choice – the exact shade of purple, the specific scents chosen, the careful precision of his handwritten notes.
But that Mia was gone. That naive girl who found hope in every small gesture, who built castles on foundations of sand – she’d died at the bottom of those marble stairs, along with our babies.
“I don’t love him anymore,” I whispered to my reflection in the vanity mirror. The words felt strange on my tongue, like speaking in a foreign language. “I don’t love Kyle Branson anymore.”
My reflection stared back, unconvinced. Dark circles still lingered under my eyes despite the expensive concealer. My cheeks had hollowed slightly, giving my face a fragility I wasn’t sure I liked. The woman in the mirror looked… lost. Uncertain. Like she was trying to convince herself of something she didn’t quite believe.
The sharp ring of my phone cut through my thoughts. The hospital’s number flashed on the screen, sending my heart into an immediate panic. Had something happened to Mom? Was she-
“Ms. Williams?” Dr. Matthews‘ familiar voice carried none of the gravity I’d come to associate with bad news. If anything, she sounded… excited? “I have some developments to discuss regarding your mother’s case.”
I sank onto the edge of my bed, fingers clutching the silk sheets without conscious thought. “Is she—”
“The team Mr. Branson brought in – they’re extraordinary. Dr. Chen from Johns Hopkins, Dr. Patel from Mayo Clinic…” She paused, and I could hear papers rustling. “They’ve developed a three–stage surgical plan. The latest imaging shows promising neural activity. With these procedures, there’s a very real chance your mother could regain consciousness.”
The world tilted slightly. “What?”
“The first surgery would address the primary pressure points, then-”
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chapter 35 False Hope
+25 BONUS
But I could barely focus on the technical details she was explaining Mom could wake up. After months of lying still as death, she could open her eyes. Smile. Speak.
The success rate?” I managed to ask when Dr. Matthews paused for breath.
“With this team? Over seventy percent. Mr. Branson insisted on the absolute best specialists in the country. The equipment alone that he’s having shipped in–”
Kyle. Of course. Another gesture, another demonstration of his power and resources. But this one… this one I couldn’t resent. Not when it meant Mom had a real chance.
After ending the call, I sat in silence, letting the magnitude of the news wash over me. Mom could wake up. The thought kept repeating, a melody of hope I barely dared to trust.
Before I could stop myself, I was reaching for my phone again. Kyle’s number appeared under my thumb – muscle memory from countless times I’d wanted to share something with him, before I learned better.
I shouldn’t call. I’d made it clear yesterday that I didn’t want me interfering in my business. Why should I involve him in mine?
But… he’d arranged this. Brought in the specialists. Given Mom a chance I could never have afforded on my own. He deserved to know what his intervention meant.
The phone rang three times before he answered. “Mia?” His voice was clipped, professional. The tone he used for unwanted interruptions.
“Kyle, I—“I stopped, suddenly uncertain. In the background, I could hear the murmur of voices, the clink of glasses. Was he in a meeting? At lunch?
Then I heard it. A feminine laugh, musical and familiar. Taylor’s laugh.
“Is something wrong?” Kyle’s voice had grown colder, more distant. “I’m in the middle of something.”
I’m sure you are, I thought bitterly. The image formed unbidden – Kyle and Taylor at some expensive restaurant, her perfectly manicured hand on his arm, her practiced smile aimed at him like a weapon.
“Never mind,” I managed. “It’s nothing important.”
“Mia-”
I ended the call before he could finish, before Taylor’s laugh could twist the knife any deeper.
The phone slipped from my suddenly numb fingers, landing on the silk sheets Kyle had sent. Purple like twilight. Like bruises. Like the shadows under my eyes that his expensive creams couldn’t quite hide.
What had I expected? That he’d drop everything – drop her – just because I had good news about Mom? That he’d share my joy, my hope? That one moment of authentic connection could bridge the chasm between us?
“Stop it,” I whispered to myself, pressing my palms against my eyes until colors burst behind my eyelids. “Stop being stupid. Stop wanting things you can’t have.”
The room suddenly felt too small, too full of Kyle’s presents and pretenses. Each gift mocked me with its perfect thoughtfulness. its calculated attempt at care. The candles with their soothing scents. The sheets with their twilight colors. The oils promising peace I couldn’t find.
I stood abruptly, needing to move, to breathe, to escape the suffocating weight of Kyle’s attention and Taylor’s laughter and my own stubborn heart that refused to learn its lesson.
“I don’t love him anymore,” I said again, louder this time. The words echoed slightly in the quiet room. “I don’t love Kyle Branson anymore.”
I had to remember: Kyle’s kindness wasn’t love. His guilt wasn’t devotion. And my heart… my traitorous, stubborn heart… needed to learn the difference.
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Chapter 36 Mrs. Branson
