I ended up staying at the hospital far longer than I ever expected.
Part of it was the broken ankle that still throbbed no matter how still I tried to be. But the real reason was simpler, quieter, and somehow more painful — there was no one waiting to take me home.
No one, except Julian.
Julian, who had once sat beside me in college lecture halls. Julian, who had confessed his feelings years ago, only to be turned down gently because my heart already belonged to someone else. To Damien.
And somehow, now, he was the one holding my hand when the nights felt too long. He brought meals I could actually stomach. He stayed silent when I cried, never pressing, never demanding. He showed up without making me feel like I owed him something.
On the morning they told me I could finally go home, he wheeled me out to the small garden behind the hospital. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, warm and gentle. We sat without talking for a while, listening to the soft whisper of wind through branches.
“I wasn’t joking before,” Julian said at last, watching me carefully. “You don’t have to go back there. If you choose to leave… I’ll help you start over.”
I looked down at my hands.
They’d grown thinner. A little shaky. They looked like hands that had held on too long and finally loosened their grip.
“I need a few days,” I said softly. “Five. I have things to fix… things to settle. After that, if you’ll still have me… I’ll go with you.”
His smile was quiet and bittersweet. “I’ll be right where you left me.”
---
By the time I reached home, the sun was already high.
The world felt cruelly normal — bright light, passing cars, neighbors sweeping their doorsteps — while a storm twisted tight in my chest.
The hospital cane knocked lightly against the pavement as I limped toward the door. Every step sent a reminder through my body that I wasn’t whole yet.
Choosing Julian felt like stepping into the unknown.
But staying in a house where no one saw me at all felt worse.
I pushed the door open.
Laughter met me before anything else.
I froze where I stood.
In the living room, they were all there — Damien, Marcus, Elliot… and Bianca. Sitting casually, drinks in their hands, like nothing around them had ever broken. Bianca leaned comfortably against Damien’s shoulder, her head tilted toward him.
My husband.
My sister.
My brothers.
All together.
All at ease.
Their faces shifted the second they saw me.
“Oh,” Damien said, blinking like he’d forgotten I existed. “Right… you’re home today. How are you feeling?”
Forgot. He’d forgotten.
The urge to laugh rose up sharp and ugly in my throat. None of them had bothered to see me once.
Before I could speak, Bianca was already on her feet, moving toward me with a bright, practiced smile.
“Tal,” she said sweetly. “I missed you. I’m so sorry we didn’t come visit… I’ve just been so unwell. But I’m doing better now. What about you? Are you okay?”
I stepped back without thinking. My skin crawled.
“I’m not fine,” I said flatly.
Her smile flickered. Confusion crossed her face before she reached out to touch me again.
“Talia—”
I shoved her hand away.
“Don’t put your hands on me.”
Elliot was on his feet in a second.
“What’s wrong with you?” he snapped. “You know she’s fragile right now.”
Marcus followed him. “She’s been suffering. You don’t get to act like this.”
My voice broke through the room, sharper than I felt.
“And what about me? I was in the hospital. I was hit by a truck.”
Damien sighed like I’d inconvenienced him.
“That was your fault,” he said. “You ran into the road. But Bianca… she has cancer. She’s not like you.”
“I’m still her sister,” Bianca said softly, eyes shining like glass. “We’re both hurting. We should be supporting each other, not fighting…”
I shook my head.
“I was hurting too,” I said. “But none of you came. Not once. I lost my baby and—”
Bianca staggered suddenly, a hand flying to her stomach.
“Oh my god,” Elliot breathed, rushing to her side. “She’s getting sick again.”
They moved instantly.
Damien caught her before she could fall.
Marcus was already grabbing a towel.
Elliot rubbed her back softly like she’d shatter if he touched too hard.
And I stood there.
Unseen.
Unheard.
Invisible again.
They didn’t even acknowledge what I’d just said. I thought about shouting it. Forcing them to listen. But the exhaustion in my bones told me what I already knew — I was fighting for space in a place that had never saved a seat for me.
So I turned away.
I walked, slowly, painfully, toward the bedroom.
When I opened the door, I stopped breathing.
Everything that was mine… was gone.
My clothes.
My framed photos.
The small trinkets I’d carefully arranged.
All replaced.
Bianca’s perfume on the air. Her makeup spread across the dresser. Her dresses hanging neatly by the mirror.
My hands shook so badly the cane nearly slipped from my fingers.
I stepped back — and she was standing there.
Bianca.
Smiling.
Not the sweet, fragile smile she wore in front of others.
This one was sharp.
Honest.
Cruel.
“You know,” she said lazily, tilting her head, “I really tried to be kind before. I did. But being kind never got me anything. While I was gone, you stepped right into my life. My place. My man. Even my brothers.”
She stepped closer.
“I’m just taking back what was always mine. I should’ve done it five years ago.”
There was no warmth in her eyes.
Only satisfaction.
She gave me a look filled with fake sympathy.
“Don’t worry,” she added lightly. “I’ll give you a few days to sort yourself out. I’m not heartless. I’d hate for you to end up sleeping on the streets. That wouldn’t look good for us.”
I stared at her.
My voice was low. “Are you really sick?”
Her eyes narrowed at once.
“What do you think?”
But memories flashed through my mind — the way she used to fake fainting spells, clutching her head just to avoid chores. The way she’d cry to our parents about imaginary pain if it got her sympathy.
“You think I’m pretending?” she said louder, enough to carry beyond the door.
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t have to.
Footsteps rushed down the hallway.
Marcus and Elliot appeared.
“She’s doing it again,” Bianca cried immediately. “She keeps saying I’m faking. She thinks my cancer isn’t real.”
Elliot’s face hardened when he looked at me.
“You’ve always been poisonous,” he spat. “No one ever liked you when we grew up. This is why.”
Marcus stepped forward.
He grabbed the chain at my neck and yanked.
The necklace fell into his hand — the one he’d given me when we were teenagers. The one he said meant he’d always stand by me.
“You don’t get to wear this anymore,” he said coldly.
I didn’t fight back.
I didn’t cry.
I just stood there, feeling strangely empty.
One by one, they left.
And I slowly lowered myself to the floor, my side aching from standing too long, my ankle screaming in quiet protest.
I stayed quiet.
Because in a few days, I would be gone.
And when they realized what they’d done…
It would already be too late.
