After grabbing a few biscuits from her bag to ease the hunger, Bryn stepped out of the office building. Just as she was about to head home, she spotted Francesca standing off to the side.
Bryn was about to walk away, but before she could, Francesca’s voice called out to her.
“Miss Miller, over here! We’ll give you a ride.”
Bryn hesitated, her instincts urging her to decline, but when she caught sight of the familiar black car parked nearby, her words caught in her throat. She swallowed her reluctance and forced a polite smile.
Francesca slid into the front seat with a smooth motion and Bryn’s eyes flickered to Alex. He glanced up from the wheel and for a brief second, a flash of surprise crossed his face when he saw Bryn. It was gone before she could fully register it, replaced by his usual calm demeanor.
The time was already pushing past nine and the thought of a late-night cab ride home from the office, with the long commute to Alex’s place in the suburbs, gave her pause. Yet, after a moment of indecision, Bryn found herself climbing into the backseat, the soft click of the door closing behind her like a door closing on any hope for peace tonight.
The air in the car felt thick with unspoken words and the silence was suffocating. Bryn could almost taste it. The tension coiled tightly between them, wrapping around her chest like a vice. Francesca, however, was never one to tolerate silence for long. She leaned forward slightly, breaking it with an overly sweet tone that grated against the stillness.
“I’m sorry about today. I didn’t know you were friends with Alex,” Francesca said, her voice syrupy with a false apology. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
Friends. The word clung to the air like something bitter. Bryn instinctively glanced at Alex, her gaze searching his face for any sign that he might correct Francesca, might clarify the situation. But no—he didn’t even look at her. His eyes remained fixed firmly on the road ahead, his silence louder than any words could be. Friends. That was how Francesca had framed it and Alex hadn’t said a word to refute it.
Her stomach churned with a tight discomfort, but it was nothing compared to the sting of that unspoken truth. Alex wasn’t even going to claim her as anything more than a friend. She felt the silence deepen, suffocating her.
Francesca, however, seemed oblivious to the tension she had created. She launched into an animated recounting of her college days with Alex, her voice dripping with nostalgia as she spoke of their shared history. Each word felt like a sharp knife twisting deeper into Bryn’s chest. She heard about the mornings Alex had brought Francesca breakfast, the way they’d spent hours talking in coffee shops, the late-night study sessions filled with quiet laughter.
It was as if Bryn wasn’t even there.
And yet, she couldn’t ignore how Alex’s gaze flickered toward her when Francesca mentioned the breakfast. It wasn’t a look of affection or acknowledgment—it was a look that seemed to almost beg for Bryn’s reaction, for her to show some sign of jealousy, of hurt. When Bryn didn’t give him the satisfaction, when she kept her gaze fixed out the window, she saw his shoulders visibly relax, as though a weight had been lifted from him. His relief was palpable, almost suffocating in its intensity.
Eventually, they reached Francesca’s destination. She slid out of the car with a final, triumphant smile, leaving Bryn and Alex alone. The silence that settled between them was thick, unbearable. Bryn couldn’t seem to find the words to fill it and neither did Alex.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he cleared his throat, preparing to speak.
“Bryn, look… Francesca, she has a bit of a temper, don’t mind her. She’s just adjusting to being back in the country. And as for me and her, we’re just friends.”
Just friends. Again. Bryn clenched her fists, willing herself not to cry. Her voice came out quiet, strained.
“Sure,” she said, barely above a whisper. She turned her gaze back out the window, unable to say anything more.
The next morning, Bryn was jolted awake by the sharp, insistent ringing of her phone.
“Hello?”
“Hello, am I speaking to Oliver Miller’s guardian? We’re calling from the City Hospital’s nephrology department. We have good news—we’ve found a kidney match for the patient.”
The nurse's voice was calm and professional, but to Bryn's ears, it sounded like music from heaven. Bryn’s heart stopped for a beat. Her brother had a donor! After three long years of waiting, there was finally a chance.
“Hello? Miss, are you still there?”
“I’m here!” Bryn’s voice cracked and she struggled to keep it steady. “When can we schedule the surgery?”
“We can arrange it for next week. Please come to the hospital as soon as possible to complete the necessary paperwork.”
A wave of relief and joy surged through Bryn, but she forced herself to focus. She quickly ended the call and rushed to get ready, her heart racing with the promise of hope.
When she arrived at the hospital, the sight of Oliver lying in the bed, pale and weak, hit her like a punch to the stomach. Their father, John Miller, sat quietly at his side, his face ashen, eyes distant and hollow.
Bryn hurried to her brother’s side, taking his hand gently in hers. “Oliver…” she whispered, her voice trembling as the weight of their long wait finally began to lift.
