“Once you’re gone?” His tone was calm, but there was a sharp edge beneath it. “Who were you talking to, Isla?”
I turned my head slowly. Mateo was slouched against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, one brow slightly lifted as if he already suspected more than he let on.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked again.
My throat tightened as I powered off my phone and slid it beneath the blanket, as though it hadn’t just changed the course of my life. “Nothing,” I answered evenly.
“Nothing?” He scoffed and took a few steps closer. “You clearly said, ‘Once I’m gone.’ Are you planning to leave me now?”
I forced myself to meet his eyes. “No. I was talking about leaving the hospital. When they finally discharge me.”
He studied my face, suspicion sharpening his gaze. “You’re sure?” Then he extended his hand. “Give me your phone.”
“For what?”
“Just hand it over.”
I didn’t fight him. I placed the phone in his palm and watched as he tapped the screen. “Your password?”
I paused for half a second too long. “My birthday.”
He typed quickly. Then his expression shifted. “It’s wrong. January twenty-six, right?”
A dry laugh escaped me. “That’s not my birthday.”
His head jerked up. “What?”
“That’s Layla’s.”
The color drained from his face as realization struck. “I—I just got confused.”
“Sure,” I muttered under my breath.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You’ve been acting strange lately. Isla… are you seeing someone else?”
For a moment, I could only stare at him in disbelief. Then a laugh burst from my chest—sharp, bitter, cutting through the sterile quiet of the room. “Cheating? That’s what you think I’m doing?”
He shrugged, falsely casual. “Well, someone already settled your hospital bills. And it wasn’t me. They told me it was some man.”
I looked at him, stunned. The accusation was laughable. After everything he’d been hiding. After all his lies. The sneaking glances, the secret meetings, the whispered devotion meant for another woman. I had seen it all. Felt it. Denied it. And now he dared to turn it on me.
But I didn’t defend myself. I was too tired for that.
“Then maybe you should ask yourself why you didn’t pay them,” I said quietly. “Maybe it was a stranger. Or maybe…” I locked eyes with him. “Maybe you’re the one who’s been unfaithful.”
His jaw tensed. But before he could respond, his phone lit up.
Layla’s name flashed across the screen.
He glanced at it, then at me. “It’s work.”
“I thought you were taking me home.”
He nodded distractedly. “Something urgent came up. My driver’s downstairs. Get in the car. I’ll meet you later.”
And just like that, he walked out.
No apology. No explanation. Not even a second glance.
I stood there staring at the empty doorway long after his footsteps disappeared. Whatever thread had still bound us together finally snapped.
I left the room alone, the chill of the hospital corridor biting into my skin. But just as I neared the exit, I heard it—laughter drifting through the hall.
I stopped.
Turned.
And saw them.
Mateo and Layla.
She was pressed against his side, smiling brightly, one hand resting on the curve of her stomach. His arm circled her instinctively, his other hand covering hers as he lowered his head to kiss her forehead. She laughed softly at something he whispered.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t cry.
I stood there hollow, one hand pressed to my chest where my heart should have been.
Then Layla lifted her head and met my eyes.
Her lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile—cruel, victorious. Then she rose onto her toes and kissed Mateo. Not hidden. Not hesitant. She kissed him boldly, proudly, making sure I saw every second of it.
Mateo didn’t pull back.
He didn’t even look around.
I turned and walked out of the hospital.
The driver opened the car door for me, but I said nothing for the entire ride. The city outside blurred into streaks of color. Layla’s laughter echoed in my head—the same laugh I once shared secrets with, the one that used to feel safe.
When we reached the house, I went straight to the bedroom.
To the closet.
To every drawer. Every shelf. Every box that still held pieces of him—of us.
The handbags he bought for our anniversaries. The dresses he chose for our vacations. The handwritten notes he once left beside my pillow.
One by one, I carried them to the fireplace.
My hands moved without hesitation, feeding five years of memories into the flames. Silk curled and blackened. Ink faded to ash. Promises turned to smoke.
Just when I thought nothing remained that could still wound me—
My phone vibrated.
I picked it up.
Layla.
With shaking fingers, I opened the message.
It was a photo.
Her lips on Mateo’s. Again. This time on our balcony—the same place where he once held me at night while we talked about having a family.
Below the image was a message:
Oops. Sorry. But he’s mine now. You took him from me once, Isla. I’m just reclaiming what belongs to me. You won’t mind… right? But you should probably leave soon.
My vision swam. Something inside me finally ignited.
I typed back through clenched teeth:
Don’t worry. I’ll disappear soon. And when I do, every single one of you will regret ever crossing my path.
I hit send.
Just a few more days.
Then I’ll be gone.
