Chapter 4
I stumbled out of the hospital with nothing but the clothes they’d scrounged up for me- sweatpants too big around the waist, a faded sweater, and slip–on shoes that flopped against my heels. The discharge papers crumpled in my fist as I hailed a cab, wincing as the movement pulled at my stitches.
The apartment was dark when I arrived.
No lights. No warmth. Just musty air and something rotting, probably in the kitchen sink. I didn’t even bother with the lights.
I dropped my bag by the door, and I kicked it shut behind me. I was still wearing the hospital gown beneath my sweater, but I didn’t have enough energy to change. I collapsed onto the sofa and stared at the ceiling. Every movement was painful because of the stitches, but soon exhaustion won over discomfort as I fell asleep.
In my dreams, I kept seeing Hank’s face–not as he looked at me, but as he looked at Lola. Like she was oxygen and he was drowning.
Hours passed before a noise jolted me awake.
Clattering.
It came from the kitchen. My muscles tensed, heart racing before I recognized the familiar pattern of footsteps. I padded toward the sound.
Hank stood at the stove, whisking eggs in a bowl. The table was already set–plates, forks, even folded napkins at each place setting. He looked up when I appeared.
“Thought you were at your Uncle’s,” he said, as if that explained his absence. “Didn’t want to disturb you.” His eyes dropped to the counter as he said, “Had no idea you were in the hospital.”
I sat at the table without a word, staring at the empty plate before me.
Hank frowned and set down the whisk. “You need to eat. Doctor’s orders, right?”
I met his gaze. “You didn’t check on me for ten days.”
Guilt flashed across his face, but he remained silent.
Then the doorbell rang.
Hank’s head snapped toward the sound. He hesitated, then moved quickly to answer it.
Lola stood in the doorway.
She looked fragile, her wrists wrapped in bandages. I wondered what happened.
Hank transformed at the sight of her. He swept her into his arms like she weighed nothing, carrying her to the couch. “You shouldn’t be out like this,” he whispered, brushing hair from her face. “What if something happens to you? Don’t you know how much you matter to me?”
“I was alone in my room,” she said, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I kept thinking about you, I don’t want to lose you. What if I opened my eyes and you were gone? I cannot stand that.”
Hank melted instantly. He moved closer, but she raised a trembling hand.
“If it’s too much trouble, I can leave,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be a burden to Monica, she already hates me enough, even though I’ve done nothing bad.”
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“No, no, It’s fine” Hank murmured. “She doesn’t think that way. Step inside now and let me take
care of you.”
I picked up my fork and stabbed at the eggs he’d placed in front of me. They were runny and under seasoned–just how Lola liked them. I used to always remind him how I preferred mine
well–done.
He’d forgotten that too.
I forced down each bite when my phone started buzzing in my pocket. Father’s name lit up the screen, along with dozens of messages showing wedding venues–grand ballrooms and garden settings, each more lavish than the last. I paused on the third one–a historic mansion with sweeping staircases and crystal chandeliers..
I called him before I could change my mind.
He answered immediately. “Darling! Did you see the venues? The third one would be perfect for the ceremony. Unless you prefer-”
“The third is perfect,” I cut in, making my voice bright and excited. “I can already picture it. I’m really looking forward to everything.”
He paused, surprised by my enthusiasm. “Perfect. I knew you’d love it once you saw it properly. You always had excellent taste.”
“Yeah,” I forced a laugh. “It’ll be beautiful. I can’t wait for the WEDDING.”
Movement caught my eye. I kept my gaze fixed on my plate.
“How much longer do you need to come back sweetie?” Father asked.
“Just a couple more hours father. Then I’ll be home.”
“Perfect. Everything’s almost ready here. Your mom and I are really excited to see you.”
“Likewise father.”
I hung up and set the phone on the table. It was followed by silence that seemed to choke the atmosphere..
I looked up.
Hank had frozen mid–step, halfway between the couch and the kitchen. Lola sat perfectly still, her fork suspended in the air, her wounded expression slipping just enough to reveal something harder underneath.
“Wedding?” Hank’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade. “What wedding?”
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