The apartment was swallowed in darkness when I stepped inside. No lamps flickered on, no comforting hum of life greeted me—just stale, suffocating air laced with the faint stench of spoiled food from the sink. I didn’t bother looking for the light switch. My bag dropped with a thud by the door, and I kicked it shut behind me, the sound echoing too loudly in the silence that pressed against my ears.
I didn’t even bother to change. The thin hospital gown under my hoodie clung uncomfortably against my skin, but I didn’t care. My body gave up the fight, and I collapsed onto the couch face-first, my arms dangling lifelessly toward the floor. The fabric scratched against the bandages beneath my clothes, but exhaustion was stronger than pain.
Sleep didn’t grant me peace. It never does—not when dreams already understand truths I refuse to say out loud.
Hours passed in fragments before I stirred awake, groggy and sore, blinking into the same endless darkness. That was when I heard it—clattering. From the kitchen.
I rose slowly, limbs heavy, head pounding, my bare feet whispering against the floor as I moved toward the sound. Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe a window had been left open. Or maybe—God forbid—someone had broken in. I rounded the corner, braced for anything.
And then I saw them.
Rowan stood at the stove, grilling steak, the sizzle loud in the silence. Corvin was at the counter, rhythmically chopping vegetables with surgeon-like precision. The dining table was set with plates, cutlery, glasses—napkins folded neatly beside each setting like this was some picture-perfect family dinner.
They both turned their heads when they noticed me standing there.
Rowan spoke first, his tone casual, as if my sudden presence wasn’t absurd. “We thought you’d gone to your aunt’s,” he said. “We didn’t want to intrude.”
Corvin’s eyes dropped guiltily to the knife in his hand, then flicked back to me. His voice was low, hesitant. “We didn’t know you were in the hospital.”
I didn’t reply. I simply walked forward, pulled out a chair, and sat down at the table. My hands rested on the wood. I didn’t touch the food.
Rowan frowned, switched off the stove, and faced me. “You need to eat,” he said firmly. “You’ve just been discharged.”
I lifted my gaze to him, cold and unwavering. “You didn’t even bother to check on me for an entire week.”
The silence that followed was louder than any scream. It stretched, unbearable, cracking at the edges. None of us moved. None of us breathed.
Then the doorbell rang.
Rowan and Corvin both turned their heads toward the sound, and Corvin was the first to move, striding quickly to answer it.
When the door swung open, there she was.
Evangeline.
She looked pale, fragile, her wrists carefully hidden beneath long sleeves but still visibly wrapped in clean gauze. She resembled a porcelain doll—cracked but still intact, holding herself together with delicacy and precision.
The moment they saw her, they rushed to her like she was the only person in the room. Rowan reached her first, scooping her up with ease, carrying her to the couch as though she weighed nothing. He laid her down gently, brushing hair away from her damp face. His voice softened. “You shouldn’t be out of bed. What if something happened to you?”
Her voice trembled, high and frail. “I was alone in my hospital room. And I kept thinking… what if I never woke up again? What if I opened my eyes and no one was there?” She swallowed hard. “I panicked. I just couldn’t stand being alone tonight.”
Rowan’s face melted with sympathy. He leaned closer, but before he could say more, she raised a weak hand as though to stop him.
“If this is too much, I’ll go back,” she whispered. “I never meant to burden anyone.”
“No,” Rowan murmured quickly, his tone full of urgency. “Don’t say that. You’re not a burden. You should’ve called us sooner—we’ll take care of you.”
Corvin hovered a step behind him, steady but concerned. “We’ll check on Marceline, then take you back to the hospital. After that, we’ll stay with you tonight.”
I said nothing.
Instead, I picked up my fork and stabbed a piece of steak. The meat was uneven—burnt on the outside, still too pink inside, chewy and tasteless. I hated steak. Always had. Yet I chewed mechanically, forcing down every bite as though swallowing ash. Because if I stopped, they would notice.
He made steak.
The one dish I couldn’t stand.
They didn’t even remember.
A bitter laugh slipped out—small, sharp, almost invisible. I smothered it with a gulp of water. Across from me, Rowan and Corvin were already fussing over her, setting another place at the table, coaxing her to eat as if she were made of glass. She basked in their attention like it belonged to her by birthright, and every so often, she looked at me with quiet triumph in her eyes. As if to say: you’ve already lost.
And then my phone buzzed.
I glanced down. Mom.
Over a dozen photos lit up my screen—wedding dresses, each one grander than the last. Lace gowns with cathedral trains. Satin with intricate beadwork. Tulle and veils that trailed like clouds. I scrolled until I paused on the third one—a satin off-the-shoulder dress, cinched at the waist, ruffles spilling like waves. My thumb hovered, then I pressed call before I could think.
She answered on the third ring, her voice warm, bubbling with excitement. “Marceline, did you get the pictures? I think the third gown would flatter you best. But if your fiancé prefers something else—”
“I love the third,” I cut in quickly, my voice carefully light, deliberately cheerful. “It’s beautiful. I can already imagine myself in it. I’m really… thrilled.”
There was a pause, as though she didn’t expect such eagerness. Then she chuckled softly. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m relieved. I knew you’d come around. You’ve always had an eye for the classic designs.”
I forced a little laugh. “Yeah. It’ll look amazing. I can’t wait for the wedding.”
Movement stirred across the room. I didn’t lift my head.
“How much longer do you need to stay there?” she asked.
“Another week,” I answered quickly. “After that, I’ll be home.”
“Perfect. Everything here is nearly ready.”
We said our goodbyes, and I hung up, placing the phone carefully on the table.
And then I felt it—the kind of silence that isn’t empty but suffocating, heavy with unsaid words.
I raised my head.
Rowan and Corvin were staring at me. Evangeline had frozen mid-motion, a fork suspended in the air, her porcelain façade intact but her eyes suddenly sharp as glass.
Rowan was the first to break. He stepped forward, crossing the distance in a few strides, his voice harsh. “Wedding?”
Corvin followed right after, brows knit, jaw clenched tight. “What wedding are you talking about?”
