Soon, the divorce agreement was presented and placed in front of me.
6
Arizona’s POV
The moment my pen touched the paper, my fingertips trembled slightly, but I did not hesitate.
As the nib cut across the line, I felt the last shackle around me snap with a dry click.
A sudden, intoxicating illusion of freedom washed over me.
I folded the agreement carefully and pressed it to my chest, as if shielding the last thread of my dignity.
Charlton looked at me as if he wanted to say something, but then stopped. His eyes carried an emotion so tangled it felt almost foreign. I no longer cared to untangle it.
“Let’s go,” I said, my voice cold.
Mariam escorted me down the corridor and into the ward. The white ward door was locked. Her tone was ice as she said, “You will not step out of here until you train someone who can perform that operation.”
I did not struggle.
They did not know that I had never intended to teach that surgery to them in the first place. Five years ago, when my son was still alive, I had already wanted to take on an apprentice. I wanted to save more patients, but there simply had not been time.
For five years, I fell asleep only after running the operation step by step in my head, terrified that I might forget. What was happening now was only me fulfilling the mission I had set for myself sooner than planned. By the time I was released again, my spirit would already be frayed.
Luca’s surgery was scheduled for three days from now.
That night, Charlton and Mariam returned home, something that rarely happened.
“Dr. Crumpler, go cook,” Mariam ordered as she flung her bag onto the sofa without room for argument. “A nanny should act like a nanny.”
I answered calmly, “All right,” and turned toward the kitchen.
Charlton suddenly spoke in a low voice as I stepped away. “Arizona, you and Mariam should get along from now on. As long as you obey, this home will always be yours.”
My steps halted, and my fingers stiffened.
We had both been orphaned. Every coin we had scraped together had bought that house, and in his mouth it became a place I could only temporarily occupy so long as I obeyed.
It was ridiculous.
It was absurd.
It was disgusting.
I said nothing and kept walking to the stove. Charlton seemed to want to explain. “I have had our son’s grave moved and rites performed. It will not bother him—”
“I am cooking,” I cut him off flatly.