I took a step back, putting distance between us. “No. You’ve already taken more than enough from me. This time… I’m the one walking away.”
My phone kept ringing without pause.
Nikolai’s name flashed across the screen again — the tenth time that morning. Each vibration felt more insistent than the last, as if his calls were growing more desperate by the second. Soon, the messages followed one after another.
Nikolai: Sienna, please, we need to talk.
Nikolai: Don’t do anything reckless.
Nikolai: Let’s handle this like adults. I can explain.
Nikolai: You’re overthinking this. Come home.
Nikolai: I’m sorry, alright? Just answer me.
Every message tightened the knot in my stomach. Explain? There was nothing left to explain. No excuse could erase what he had done.
I stared at the screen, my chest heavy with a dull ache. Then, without another thought, I blocked his number.
I had listened to enough of his lies. The silence that followed felt almost comforting. Almost.
Across from me at the police station, the detective watched as I handed over a flash drive along with a printed copy of the email. My fingers trembled slightly. “Everything’s in there,” I said quietly. “Proof that my blindness wasn’t an accident. I want the person responsible — Carlo Reyes — arrested.”
The officer scanned the documents before meeting my gaze. “Ms. Sienna, you’re saying your husband knew about this?”
A bitter laugh escaped me. “Not my husband. And he didn’t just know — he planned it. He paid the doctors to take my corneas and give them to Carlo. He wanted me helpless. Easier to control.”
The officer’s expression turned serious. “We’ll investigate immediately. If this goes to court, we’ll need your full cooperation.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” I replied firmly. “I’ve spent years in the dark. I’m done staying silent.”
As I stood to leave, my phone vibrated again — this time from an unfamiliar number. My stomach tightened. For a moment, I wondered if Nikolai was calling from another line, but when I answered, a familiar voice greeted me.
“Sienna?”
It was Beatrice — Nikolai’s mother.
My throat tightened. “Mrs. Arvant…”
“Please,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Don’t call me that. Just Beatrice. I… I heard everything. Can we meet? Please.”