Maya did not think healing would feel like this.
Not peaceful.
Not relieving.
Heavy.
Like carrying something that refused to be put down.
London did not feel like an escape.
It felt like a pause.
A space where everything that had been pushed aside began to surface.
Slowly.
Relentlessly.
She spent most of her days inside.
Not because she wanted to.
But because her body refused anything else.
Her breathing had worsened.
What once felt like discomfort had become something sharper.
More intrusive.
Some mornings, she woke up gasping.
Other times, she simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for her lungs to cooperate.
But that morning—
It was different.
The pain came suddenly.
Sharp.
Crushing.
Her chest tightened violently, as though something inside her had clenched and refused to release.
Maya inhaled—
But no air came.
Her fingers gripped the sheets instinctively, her body tensing as panic surged through her.
Again—
She tried to breathe.
Nothing.
A strangled sound escaped her throat as her vision blurred, the room tilting slightly.
Her heart pounded erratically against her ribs, too fast, too hard—then suddenly too faint.
"M—"
The sound didn't form.
Her body gave way.
And then—
Darkness.
When Adela found her, Maya was unresponsive.
Still.
Too still.
"Dad!" Adela's voice broke, sharp with panic. "Call an ambulance!"
Everything after that moved too fast.
Voices.
Footsteps.
Hands.
"Maya, can you hear me?"
Nothing.
The ambulance sirens cut through the morning, loud and urgent, echoing against the walls of the estate.
By the time they reached the hospital, she was barely breathing.
Machines took over where her body had failed.
Doctors spoke in quick, controlled tones.
"Heart distress—get her oxygen."
"Pulse is unstable."
"Move, now."
And somewhere between those voices—
Maya slipped further away.
Until finally—
Her body fought.
And held on.
But it did not feel like survival.
It felt like something had been taken from her.
When she woke—
It wasn't relief that met her.
It was exhaustion.
The kind that settled into her bones.
Machines hummed softly around her.
A steady reminder—
That her body had failed.
And had needed help to continue.
She didn't ask what had happened.
She already knew—
It had been bad.
Bad enough to take her under.
Bad enough to scare them.
And strangely—
That didn't frighten her.
It… clarified something.
Days blurred together.
Her body was not cooperating.
Not healing as quickly as it should.
But eventually—
It stabilized.
Not healed.
Not strong.
Just… stable.
They kept her longer.
For observation.
Time felt different here.
Slower.
Quieter.
Less demanding.
It was during one of those quiet afternoons that her phone buzzed.
She stared at it for a while before reaching for it.
Calvin.
The name did not make her heart race.
It didn't make her nervous.
It didn't make her hopeful.
It made her… still.
She opened the message.
Haven't heard from you in a while. How are you? Also, the utility bills are in.
Maya read it once.
Then again.
Utility bills.
Of course.
She stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then she typed.
I'm fine. Just not feeling well. That's why you haven't heard from me.
The reply came almost immediately.
What's wrong?
Maya looked at the words.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Then—
It's nothing.
A pause.
Then—
Are you pregnant? 😂
Maya stared at the message.
And then—
She smirked.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Yes.
The response came faster this time.
What? I don't understand. I thought you were on birth control.
Maya's fingers moved calmly.
Yes, I was.
I don't know how it happened.
But I'm pregnant.
She paused.
Then added—
I told you that evening we saw each other in the condo.
You didn't say a word about it.
There was a longer pause this time.
Then—
I thought you were joking.
Maya let out a quiet breath.
Why would I joke about something like that? Something that serious.
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Returned.
So… what are you going to do?
Maya's eyes hardened slightly.
I don't know.
And I don't have money currently.
You know my trust fund got finished years ago.
A pause.
Then—
You should try and think of something.
Maya's lips curved.
Not into a smile.
Something else.
It should be we.
I didn't get myself pregnant.
It's both of our responsibility.
The typing bubble lingered longer this time.
Okay. Take care of yourself.
Maya stared at those words a second longer than necessary.
Take care of yourself.
Not Are you okay?
Not I'm coming.
Just—
Take care.
She let out a quiet breath.
Not disappointed.
Not hurt.
Just… certain.
And then—
Nothing.
The conversation ended.
Maya stared at the screen.
Then she smiled.
Slow.
Cold.
"Desperate," she whispered to herself.
Her reflection in the darkened screen looked unfamiliar.
Calm.
Composed.
Calculating.
"What I once used to hold onto you…" she murmured.
"Will now be what breaks you."
She locked her phone.
And leaned back against the hospital bed.
Her chest tightened slightly.
Her breathing uneven.
But she didn't call the nurse.
She just breathed through it.
Adela visited every day.
So did Tatiana.
They never overwhelmed her.
Never forced conversations.
They simply stayed.
And sometimes—
That was enough.
After a few more days, Maya was discharged.
She wasn't well.
Not truly.
Her breathing was still labored.
Her body still weak.
But she was stable.
Back at the estate, everything felt softer.
Warmer.
Safer.
Adela hovered without making it obvious.
Tatiana ensured everything was taken care of.
And then there was Daario.
He didn't speak much at first.
But one morning, at breakfast, he did.
"Maya," he said gently.
She looked up.
"I've been thinking," he continued. "After your graduation at NYU… you should consider moving back here permanently."
Maya blinked slightly.
"This is your home too," he added. "It always has been."
Her throat tightened.
Not painfully.
Emotionally.
She nodded slowly.
"I'll think about it."
Daario smiled.
Satisfied.
Because he knew—
That was enough.
The estate had always been home.
Since her father died.
Since everything changed.
This was where she had learned to survive.
And maybe now—
Where she would learn to live again.
Ryan called a few days later.
His voice was familiar.
Comforting.
"How are you?" he asked immediately.
"Alive," Maya replied lightly.
He laughed softly.
"I'm in London," he said. "Exchange program."
Maya raised a brow.
"Of course you are."
"I came to suffer academically in a different country," he joked.
She smiled.
"Let me know when you're free," he added.
"I'll visit," Maya said.
And she meant it.
Days passed.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Maya didn't think of Calvin.
Not actively.
Not intentionally.
But sometimes—
A song.
A memory.
A passing thought.
And then—
Hatred.
Pure.
Unfiltered.
Not loud.
Not chaotic.
Just… present.
Five years.
That was what she had given him.
Five years of love.
Of patience.
Of belief.
And in return—
She had almost lost herself.
That was what angered her the most.
Not the betrayal.
Not the lies.
But how close she had come—
To disappearing.
His birthday came quietly.
The day after she arrived in London.
She had stared at his contact for a long time.
Then typed—
Happy birthday.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
He replied.
She didn't care.
Because even then—
All she felt—
Was hatred.
That same night—
Her body gave in.
And the hospital became inevitable.
Now—
Back at the estate—
Recovering slowly—
She understood something.
She had loved him.
Deeply.
Completely.
And that love—
Had almost destroyed her.
But now—
It had changed.
Not into indifference.
Not yet.
But into something sharper.
Clearer.
Hatred—
Not born from weakness—
But from clarity.
She no longer questioned who he was.
She knew.
And that knowledge—
Was power.
That knowledge—didn't break her.
It steadied her.
Maya stood by the window one evening.
The London sky stretched endlessly before her.
Gray.
Soft.
Uncertain.
She placed a hand lightly on the glass.
Her reflection stared back at her.
Still fragile.
Still healing.
But no longer lost.
"I will be okay," she whispered.
Not as a hope.
But as a quiet promise.
And for the first time—
She believed it.