Chapter 67 Chapter 67
Chapter 67
Amelia lay on the clinic bed, staring at the white ceiling like it had personally offended her.
Everything hurt.
Not the dramatic kind of pain people cry over in movies. This one was quiet, sharp in some places, dull in others, spreading whenever she tried to shift even a little.
Her body felt unfamiliar, stiff, like it no longer belonged to her.
She exhaled slowly and turned her head to the side.
The room smelled like antiseptic and something faintly floral. A small window let in daylight, but she didn’t bother looking outside. Time felt irrelevant here. All that mattered was what she had done and what she was still trying to convince herself she hadn’t.
Her phone buzzed on the bedside table.
Amelia frowned.
No one was supposed to be calling her. Not yet.
The screen lit up again.
Dad calling.
Her heart skipped.
She stared at the name for a full three seconds before reaching for the phone. Her fingers hesitated just before she answered.
“Hello?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Amelia,” her father’s voice came through immediately. “Where have you been?”
She closed her eyes.
“I’ve been sick,” she replied quickly. Too quickly.
“Sick?” Drake asked. “Since when?”
“Since… yesterday,” she said, then corrected herself. “No, two days ago.”
There was a pause on the line.
“We’ve been calling you,” he said. “Your mother is worried. You didn’t come home. You didn’t answer. What kind of sickness makes you disappear like that?”
Amelia tightened her grip on the phone. “I didn’t want to worry anyone.”
“Well, congratulations,” Drake replied. “You did.”
She swallowed. Her throat felt dry.
“I’m fine now,” she added. “Just needed rest.”
“Rest where?” he asked sharply.
“At a clinic,” she said. “It’s nothing serious.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“What clinic?” Drake asked.
Amelia’s eyes moved around the room, landing briefly on the IV stand beside her bed. “Just… a private one.”
“You didn’t think to tell us?” he pressed.
“I didn’t want you rushing over for no reason,” she said. “I knew you’d overreact.”
Her father sighed. “You’re my daughter. Of course I’ll overreact.”
She didn’t respond.
“Amelia,” he said more gently now. “Are you really okay?”
She nodded even though he couldn’t see her. “Yes, Dad. I promise.”
“You sound tired.”
“I’m just sleepy,” she lied.
Another silence settled between them.
“We’ll talk when you get home,” Drake finally said. “Call your mother.”
“I will,” Amelia replied.
“Don’t disappear again,” he warned.
“I won’t.”
The call ended.
Amelia lowered the phone slowly, her hand shaking slightly.
She stared at the dark screen.
Her chest felt tight, not from pain, but from something closer to guilt.
She hated lying to her father. He trusted her more than anyone else did. And here she was, hiding in a beauty clinic, recovering from a decision she had made out of anger and desperation.
She turned her head away, blinking fast.
“This is fine,” she whispered to herself. “It’s just four days.”
A knock sounded at the door.
Amelia stiffened. “Yes?”
The door opened quietly and a woman stepped in, tablet tucked under her arm. She was in her late forties, hair pulled back neatly, her face calm in the way of someone who had seen every kind of impatience and panic before.
“Good afternoon, Amelia,” the doctor said, glancing at the chart. “How are we feeling today?”
Amelia let out a short, humorless breath. “Like I made the worst decision of my life and my body is punishing me for it.”
The doctor didn’t look offended. If anything, she looked unsurprised. “That happens after major procedures.”
Amelia shifted on the bed, the movement slow and careful. A sharp reminder ran through her and she hissed softly, gripping the sheets until it passed.
“So,” she said, forcing her tone to stay steady, “when can I leave?”
The doctor tapped the tablet with one finger. “I already explained this to you.”
“I know,” Amelia replied quickly. “But things change. People heal faster than expected.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow and looked at her properly this time. “You had extensive work done. This isn’t a cold or a bruise.”
“I’m strong,” Amelia insisted. “I bounce back.”
“That confidence is exactly why you need to stay,” the doctor replied calmly. “You’re not giving your body enough credit for what it’s dealing with.”
Amelia looked away, her jaw tightening. “I don’t want to stay here.”
“I know,” the doctor said. “Most people don’t.”
“I need to go home,” Amelia added, her voice flatter now. “I have things to handle.”
The doctor studied her face for a few seconds, then sighed softly. Not annoyed. Just firm.
“You’ve been very determined since you arrived,” she said.
“That’s one way to put it,” Amelia muttered.
The doctor scrolled through the chart. “If everything continues the way it is now, you can be discharged in four days.”
Amelia’s head snapped back toward her. “Four days?”
“Yes.”
“That’s too long.”
“It’s not,” the doctor replied evenly. “It’s the safest option.”
“I can’t stay here that long,” Amelia said, her fingers curling into the sheet. “I feel trapped.”
“You’re not trapped,” the doctor corrected gently. “You’re healing.”
Amelia scoffed under her breath and turned her face toward the window.
“I have things to do,” she said quietly, almost to herself.
The doctor followed her gaze. “Things that can wait.”
Amelia laughed, short and bitter. “You don’t know that.”
The doctor didn’t push. “Four days, Amelia,” she said. “That’s my final decision.”
She turned toward the door, then paused. “And you should avoid stress.”
Amelia let out a breath that sounded close to a laugh. “That’s funny.”
The doctor gave her a brief look, then left.
The door closed.
Amelia lay back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling.
Four days.
Four days in this place. Four days of pain, silence, and too much thinking. Four days before she could walk back into the world pretending nothing had happened, carrying a body that looked different but still held the same ache inside.
Her phone buzzed on the bedside table.
She glanced at it, already knowing who it would be.
Gloria: When would you come back from the surgery?
Amelia’s throat tightened.
So Gloria knew. Or at least suspected enough to say it out loud.
She stared at the message for a long moment, then locked the screen without replying.
Not now. She didn’t have the strength to explain herself. She didn’t want the questions. Or the disappointment.
Her thoughts slipped, as they always did, to Ethan.
To that magazine page. To the way his attention had looked so focused, so natural with someone else. To how easily she had been pushed out of the picture.
Her lips pressed together.
“This will change everything,” she whispered, more like a promise than a hope.
She shifted again, biting back a sound as pain flared and settled.
It hurt. All of it did. Her body. Her pride. Her heart.
But her resolve stayed firm.
No one would overlook her again.
No one would choose someone else while she stood in the background.
Not after this.
She closed her eyes, blocking out the clinic sounds, letting her mind drift toward the version of herself she believed would come out of this place.
Four days.
She could wait.
She had already crossed the line. There was no turning back now.