I ran through the rain, through the cars, the city slapping itself against my face. Horns blared. My hair plastered to my skin. My clothes stuck to me, soaked with sweat and rain.
When I finally reached the hospital room, I pushed the door open.
There she was. Zenith. My little girl, curled small in the bed. Her hands wrapped in thick bandages. She looked like my daughter, the one who used to giggle at piano keys, and at the same time she looked like a stranger, someone carved out of pain.
I collapsed beside her. My tears soaked into her hair. “Zenith,” I whispered, over and over. “Mama’s here. Mama’s here, baby.” Everything inside me, all the pieces that had hardened into stone, melted against her skin.
The door creaked and a doctor came in.
“Your daughter’s hands… severe damage. We did everything we could. Surgery, therapy… there’s hope. She could regain function.”
“C-can she still play piano? Piano… she loved piano.”
“Maybe someday. But not soon.”
I nodded and pressed my hand over my mouth, crying silently. All the piano recitals we’d circled on the calendar, all the little dreams… burned in my mind. Bright little futures, now twisted into something cruel and uncertain.
The door opened again, not gently this time. A man walked in, tall, smiling like he knew exactly how dangerous he was, two hulking men shadowing him.
“Odette,” he said like we were meeting for coffee, old friends. “I’m Johnny. Johnny Wattson. Aamon sent me.”
The doctor practically bolted out the room.
Johnny leaned on the bed rail. “Aamon took care of the kidnappers. Want to see their bodies?”
My stomach turned. “No,” I whispered. “I don’t want to see anything.”
He chuckled, like I’d given him a private joke. “Too bad. Quite the art, really. Aamon had them killed, dismembered. They won’t bother you again.” He tilted his head, watching me like a cat watching a bird. “Want to know who hired them?”
Zenith stirred, a soft whimper escaping her lips. I hugged her tighter, pressed her face to my chest, refused to meet Johnny's eyes. “I don’t want to know. I just want her safe.”
Johnny's smile sharpened. “As you wish. Aamon’s coming to Europe. One week. Sign your divorce papers. After that… he’ll collect you himself.”
My throat shook. “Thank you,” I whispered, because gratitude was all I had left.
Johnny's eyes glimmered with amusement as he leaned closer. “Don’t thank me, little dove. Aamon won’t take thanks. He’ll take you. Body, soul. That’s the only payment he wants.”
He straightened, winked like this was some kind of game, and left, his men trailing behind like shadows.
...
The room felt smaller when they were gone. Darker. Zenith shifted in my arms, crying now. I held her tighter, rocked her, whispered to her, and the night pressed in around us, walls closing in.
I didn’t notice the hours passing and must have fallen asleep because my phone buzzed in the dark. Zenith’s tiny, bandaged hands rested on my chest. For a second I thought I was still dreaming. Then the screen flashed. Gillian.
My thumb shook as I answered. His voice ripped through the line like fire. “Where the hell are you?! Why aren’t you home? You think you can run off and embarrass me? Disappear like this?”
I stared at Zenith’s fragile face, her lashes brushing her cheeks, her little body too small under the white sheets. I didn’t say a word. I ended the call and powered the phone off. The silence was heavy, but it felt like a tiny act of rebellion. For once, I chose quiet over his rage.
By sunrise, my body ached from the narrow hospital bed, my clothes stiff with dried rain and sweat. I smelled of fear and sterile walls. Zenith stirred, and I smoothed her hair, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. “Mama’s right here. I’ll get us clean clothes, okay? Then I’ll make sure I look pretty again for you.”
I stepped into the hallway, and the world spun around me. Medics rushed past, wheels squealing, pushing a gurney. On it lay Gibeah—pale, clutching her stomach, her cries sharp and desperate. Jenniva clung to her side, her voice shrill as she screamed at the doctors. Gillian stormed behind them, face twisted with panic, barking orders like a storm.
His eyes found me.
He tore away from the gurney and grabbed my arm so hard I thought he’d snap it.
“Odette!” His hand swung before I could even breathe. The slap burned across my cheek, hot and blinding.
“How dare you,” he growled, digging his fingers into my flesh. “You ordered someone to poison Gibeah last night! You really thought you could kill my daughter and get away with it? You pathetic little bitch.”
My face burned. My chest burned worse. I swallowed the scream clawing up my throat. No words came out because it wouldn’t matter. Gillian had already chosen his truth. He would never believe me.
Gibeah groaned, weak and frightened. “Daddy… Daddy!”
Gillian tore himself away from me, running after the gurney, chasing the girl he worshipped. His parting words sliced through me. “We’ll talk after this.”
Jenniva brushed past, her perfume thick and sickly sweet, choking the air. Her lips curved into the faintest, smug smile. Calm. That was all I needed to know. She had orchestrated this. Poisoned Gibeah and pinned it on me.
I bit down hard and swallowed the sob rising in my chest. I kept walking, stiff, refusing to crumble in front of her. I bought clean clothes from a shop down the street, my hands shaking as I folded them into a bag. Then I came back, focused only on getting to Zenith.
At the elevator, I pressed the button, willing it to open. The doors slid apart with a soft chime. Relief rushed through me—until someone stepped in my way.
Jenniva.
She leaned against the doorway, her perfume thick and sickly sweet, like poison. “How’s your little Zenith? Dead yet?” She tilted her head, voice mocking. “I had those thugs smash her tiny fingers. So my daughter could take the spotlight at the piano contest. And when they were done, I told them to dump your little girl’s body on the street like trash.”
“How dare you!”
The words tore out of me before I even realized, my palm already slamming against Jenniva’s painted cheek.
Slap!
