When I wake, everything is muffled. My head feels heavy, and there’s a burning sensation under the bandages. My throat is dry.
Rowan’s voice is the first thing I hear. “You’re awake. The surgery went well. Doctor said the donor cornea was perfect.”
“It… hurts,” I whisper.
“That’s normal. Just rest.”
--
The next two days blur into pain and dizziness. Every time I move, the world tilts. But the thought of what’s ahead keeps me going.
On the third day, the doctor unwraps the bandages.
“All right, slowly open your eyes,” he says.
It’s not instant clarity. First, there’s only brightness, then shapes, then the faint outline of a face.
And then… Rowan. His smile is small but genuine. “Welcome back.”
Something shifts inside me.
No more tears for Julian. No more begging to be seen.
That night, I sit at the desk in my hospital room, scribbling in my notebook. Ideas for my revenge take shape in rough sketches and short notes. Rowan knocks on the door.
“Come in,” I say.
He steps inside. “Grandfather’s been asking when you’ll come home.”
My hand stills. Four years. Four years of excuses, all because I thought Julian’s comfort mattered more than my own family.
I swallow. “He’s… okay?”
“He’s waiting. And he’s proud of you, even now.”
Pride. A word I haven’t heard in so long.
Julian has no idea who I really am. He thinks I am just a plain housewife who paints for fun. He doesn’t know that once, I was a renowned painter. That my exhibitions sold out in hours. That I gave it all up to cook for him, clean for him, love him.
I look at my hands. The same hands that once held brushes and created worlds. They itch now, like they’re remembering.
I close my notebook and stand. “Rowan,” I say quietly, “we go home now. I’m ready to paint again.”
--
The flight was long, but Rowan made sure no one paid us too much attention.
No public greetings, no fanfare. Just two quiet passengers slipping through the VIP exit of El Prat Airport in Barcelona.
As soon as we stepped into the arrival hall, Rowan leaned close. “Abuelo already sent a car. Security team’s outside.”
I paused for a second, my hands tightening around my bag. Security. A car waiting for me. Those words used to be normal in my life, but now they felt almost… foreign. Julian never allowed anything like that. He always said, “It’s just for show. You’re not some princess. Stop acting entitled.” So I stopped expecting safety.