Chapter 37: Chapter Thirty Six

Athena

My brows furrowed. "Do?" I echoed, confused. "Why me?"

Beatrix's lips curled into a smile that wasn’t quite a smile. It unnerved me, making me feel like I was walking into a trap set by Beatrix. But until I walked further into it by becoming part of her family, I wouldn’t know her true intentions.

"Because you look the part," she said coolly, shrugging her delicate shoulders.

"The part?" I asked, even more confused.

Beatrix waved her hand dismissively, ignoring me. She turned her attention to Sister Margaret. "Never mind. You’ll understand in time. Sister, let’s finalize the paperwork. I don’t have all day." Her tone became sharp and impatient. "I’ll make the necessary arrangements. I want her enrolled in etiquette and fashion classes immediately. She should be presented properly."

Sister Margaret nodded enthusiastically, her wide smile radiating approval. I watched as Beatrix turned toward Sister Mary, already moving on from the conversation as though adopting a child were nothing more than a business transaction. And for Beatrix, maybe it was. It felt like I was being selected for a role, not a home.

"Athena, would you like to go with Mrs. Sanderson?" Sister Margaret asked gently.

I glanced at her, then at Beatrix. Did I have a choice? The orphanage wasn’t a home, but was this any better? Still, I had learned to survive. I lifted my chin, forcing my expression to remain neutral.

"Yes, Sister," I replied, my voice flat.

Beatrix’s lips curved slightly, as though she approved of my composure. She placed a gloved hand on my shoulder, light but firm, a silent reminder of who now held the control. Then, she turned toward the door.

"Say goodbye to your old life, Athena. From now on, you’re a Sanderson," she said, glancing over her shoulder with a look in her eyes that wasn’t happiness but satisfaction. The twinkle in her gaze seemed more sinister than anything else.

The words settled in my chest like a stone. A new life, yes—but whose design would it follow? Beatrix's? It would definitely not be mine.

A lump formed in my throat as the weight of the situation sank in. I didn’t know what Beatrix Sanderson truly wanted from me, but something told me this wasn’t the happy ending the other children dreamed of when they imagined being adopted.

This wasn’t warmth, nor the gentle promise of family I had seen in the eyes of other adoptive parents.

I snapped back to reality, my breath catching as the past lingered in my mind like a ghost. Would I have done things differently if I had known what awaited me in my new life? I couldn’t answer that question.

Beatrix had branded me a thief to cover up my disappearance, not even bothering to search for me. I was sure she was relieved that she hadn’t needed to lift a finger to get rid of me. Well, I had news for her: I wasn’t going anywhere until I got what I wanted. 

She had wanted a daughter who looked like a model, and she got one. She had wanted an obedient daughter, and I had been that obedient daughter.

Now it was time for her to repay me by ensuring I lacked for nothing. I didn’t care about the money—what I wanted was an education.

It was that final thought that had me shifting to the edge of my bed, steadying myself before pressing the red button on the wall to call for a nurse. I could only hope that my request would be granted without protest.

Moments later, the door swung open, and Dr. Whitten stepped in, his expression calm yet firm. Relief washed over me—I wouldn’t have to go through a nurse first to speak with him.

"Doctor, I need to leave. Please, discharge me today," I said, gripping the blanket tightly.

Dr. Whitten's gaze softened, but his tone remained cautious. "Athena, I understand that you're restless, but your body is still weak. You've been through a lot, and leaving now isn't advisable."

"I know my body," I countered, my voice edged with urgency. "I'll be fine. I just—" I exhaled shakily. "I need to go home."

He sighed, concern etched across his features. "Athena, you were brought in just a few hours ago. Your vitals were unstable, and you're still weak. You need rest, not to rush out of here." He said, his tone still gentle but resolute.

A deep unease clawed at my insides. It made my chest tight. I shook my head. "I can't stay here, Doctor. I need to go home."

Dr. Whitten's expression remained firm. "At least give yourself another day. Your vitals are still stabilizing. If you push too hard, you could end up back here in worse condition."

I clenched my fists beneath the blanket. "You don’t understand. I can’t stay here any longer," I insisted, my voice bordering on desperation. "I'm sorry, but I have to leave."

Dr. Whitten studied me intently, his experienced eyes scanning my pale face and the restless energy in my posture. "You're not strong enough yet," he said gently. "You could collapse the moment you step outside."

"Please," I cut in, my voice thick with urgency. "I feel fine. I just... I need to leave. Now."

His brow arched in suspicion. "Athena, is there something you're not telling me?"

He was probably wondering why I was so determined to leave the hospital despite my weakness and dehydration. But even if I tried to explain, he would never understand, so I didn’t bother.

I had no idea what awaited me at home. Beatrix might throw me out, or she might settle for cursing me out as usual before ordering the maids not to feed me—that would be the end of it. Whatever punishment she had in store, I would endure it. The only thing I wouldn’t accept was being denied the chance to explain myself.

I averted my gaze, biting my lip, unable to answer. "I just need to be home," I whispered. "Please, Doctor. Let me leave."

A heavy silence hung between us. Dr. Whitten exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple as if weighing his options. He looked conflicted, but I could tell he wasn’t going to hold me here against my will. His lips pressed together in disapproval before he finally relented with a sigh.

"I can't stop you if you're determined," he said, his tone edged with reluctance. "But at least let me make sure you're stable enough to be on your own."

I nodded hastily, relief washing over me. "Thank you," I breathed.

Dr. Whitten checked my vitals one last time before carefully removing the IV from my arm. "Against my better judgment, I’ll allow it. But I want you on strict bed rest at home. No strenuous activities, no stress. Understood?"

"Yes, doctor," I nodded in agreement.

He studied me for a moment before continuing, "I’ll send a nurse in with your discharge papers." He arched his brow. "Do you need clothes? I assume you don’t have any with you."

I hesitated. "Um... can I leave in the hospital pajamas?"

Dr. Whitten’s eyebrows lifted slightly, amusement flickering across his face before he sighed in resignation. Still, he nodded. "I don’t usually let patients walk out in those, but fine. Just this once—if that’s what you want."

A few seconds after Dr. Whitten left, a nurse entered holding my discharge papers. She handed them to me along with a pen, and I quickly scribbled my name on the line. After taking the papers back, she turned and left the room.

I didn’t waste another second. Pushing off the bed, I ignored the slight dizziness that followed and slipped on the hospital-provided slippers. Without looking back, I stepped out of the room and into the bustling hallway. 

As I passed Dr. Whitten at the nurses' station, where he was speaking with a nurse, I didn’t spare a glance to see what expression he wore—whether it was pity, relief, or something else entirely. I didn’t care.

My heart pounded as I navigated through the hospital, brushing past nurses and patients who barely spared me a second look. I wasn’t sure how I appeared to them, but at that moment, I couldn’t bring myself to care. All that mattered was getting home—to confirm that Beatrix hadn’t cast me aside.

Moments later, clad in the loose-fitting hospital pajamas and clutching the thin cardigan they had given me, I pushed through the hospital’s double doors.

The cool evening air struck me like a wave, sharp against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. My breath hitched, but I didn’t slow down. I stepped onto the curb, scanning the street with anxious eyes. A yellow cab slowed at the sight of my outstretched arm.

The driver, a middle-aged man with weary eyes, rolled down the window. "Where to?" he asked gruffly.

"79 Willowbrook Avenue," I blurted out, my breathing uneven.

He gave me a skeptical look, his gaze flicking over my hospital attire before jerking his thumb toward the back. "Hop in."

I slid into the backseat and shut the door, pressing myself against the worn leather. My fingers gripped the edge of the seat as the cab pulled away from the hospital.

The city lights blurred past the window, but I barely noticed. My heart hammered against my ribs, the unease gnawing at me refusing to fade. My thoughts were a tangled mess, my stomach twisted with anxiety.

I just needed to get home—to regain some semblance of control.