I woke up shivering.
The hospital room was cold, stark, and strange. My body felt like lead, my throat dry and sore. I squinted at the blinding overhead light, disoriented, trying to understand what had happened.
Then it came back in a rush.
The party. The pool.
Bobbie.
He didn’t help me. Of course he didn’t.
I pushed myself up slowly, every movement resisted by aching muscles. The wall clock read 4:17 p.m. A sharp pang of anxiety hit me. The banquet.
I’d been unconscious for days.
I pressed the nurse call button. Within moments, a nurse entered, her eyes widening. “You’re finally awake,” she said, clearly surprised.
“My belongings,” I rasped. “Please, I need them.”
She looked uncertain but returned shortly with a clear plastic bag. As soon as I powered on my phone, it buzzed relentlessly. All the messages were from Bobbie.
You’ve ruined it all.
The party was a nightmare.
Viola’s shaken—I have to be with her now.
Leonard’s furious.
You’re on your own. Come home if you ever learn to act right. Or don’t. You’re deaf and useless!
I read his words and let out a hollow laugh. Was he really trying to place the blame on me? As if he knew the real story. Viola had shoved me. But it didn’t matter anymore.
I nearly drowned, and all he cared about was Viola. Did he even rescue me?
No.
But maybe that was a good thing. I didn’t have to feel bad about what I planned next.
They had only made things easier.
I yanked the IV from my arm, wincing at the pain, and forced myself to my feet. My legs trembled, but I stood tall. I wasn’t spending another minute there. I walked straight out of the hospital, hailed a cab, and gave the driver the name of my hotel.
As the car weaved through traffic, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my lawyer:
Send the divorce documents. Immediately.
I made another call.
“Have everything ready,” I instructed the agency. “It’s time.”
No second-guessing. No fear. I was leaving tonight. At the hotel, I collected my things—documents, bags, my fresh identity. Before long, Vickie Lawrence would cease to exist.
Once at the airport, I checked in, then found a seat near the gate. My flight wouldn’t board for an hour. I absentmindedly scrolled through my phone, checking updates from the banquet.
A notification pinged—a live video from one of my friends in the Deaf community.
I almost swiped past.
Almost.
But then I saw him—Bobbie. Grinning. Laughing. Flirting with Viola as if nothing had happened.
My stomach twisted, but I kept watching. Then a staff member approached him. I couldn’t hear what was said at first, but Bobbie’s smile faded instantly.
Another person came running. I turned up the volume.
“...Miss Vickie hasn’t been spotted for some time now.”
Bobbie’s body went rigid. He reached for his phone, no doubt to call me.
Then someone else rushed into the scene, gasping for breath. “Sir, legal documents just arrived from Miss Vickie.”
Bobbie took the envelope. The color drained from his face. That’s right. Just what I wanted.
“Divorce papers, sir,” the staff said, “and… something else.”
Bobbie’s fingers trembled as he unfolded the extra pages.
“The report says Miss Vickie regained her hearing two weeks ago,” the staff member added.
He looked like he’d been punched. All those awful things he’d said—he must have remembered them all.
I smiled to myself. That’s right, sweetheart. I heard everything.
Gasps rippled through the banquet hall. Bobbie’s expression crumpled into panic.
Then another staff member rushed forward with urgency.
“Sir, we just got another report…” He paused. “Miss Vickie is dead.”
The entire room went still.
The staff continued, voice shaking. “It… appears to be suicide. The report says she discovered you were behind the accident that killed her parents and left her deaf.”
