I looked past Nathan’s shoulder. Danica was watching us. Her eyes were narrowed, calculating. She wasn’t looking at Nathan; she was looking at me, trying to gauge if I was still a threat.
If I pushed for a divorce now, while I was bedridden and weak, they would destroy me. Nathan would manipulate the narrative. He would paint me as the unstable, grieving wife. He would use his grandfather’s influence to block me.
I needed to be smart. I needed to be like the old Karylle—pliable, sweet, and stupid.
I needed to make them think they had won, so they wouldn’t see the knife coming until I buried it in their backs.
I let out a long, shaky breath and lowered my eyes.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Maybe… maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s just the grief talking.”
I felt Nathan’s body sag with relief. The tension evaporated from the room.
“I knew it,” he exhaled, patting my hand. “I knew you didn’t mean it.”
“I’m just… tired, Nathan,” I said, closing my eyes to hide the hatred burning in them. “I’m so tired. I just want to sleep.”
“Of course,” he said, standing up briskly. He was eager to leave. Eager to get away from the depressing hospital room and back to his life. “You rest. I’ll handle the doctors. I’ll handle everything.”
“Okay,” I murmured.
“And Karylle?” he said. “Don’t mention the D-word again. It upsets everyone. We’re going to get through this. Together.”
“Okay,” I repeated.
He nodded, satisfied. He opened the door and ushered Danica out.
I reached under my pillow and pulled out the phone. I dialed a number I hadn’t called in ten years. A number I swore I would never need.
It rang once. Twice.
“Hello?” A sharp, elegant voice answered.
“Mother,” I said. My voice was raspy, broken, but underneath it was steel. “You said…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You said once that if I ever came to my senses, you’d be there. You said you wanted to make up for leaving me and father behind.”
“I did,” my mother said, her voice softening. “I still do. What do you need?”
“Help me,” I whispered. “Process my immigration papers. Get me a visa. Get me a flight. I’m done, Mother. I want to leave. And I want to disappear.”
“It is a tragedy,” Arthur said, his voice gravelly. He set down his wine glass with a heavy clink. “A damn tragedy. My great-grandson. Gone before he even took a breath.”