Chapter 112
Lena's POV
"No." I met her eyes, keeping my voice level. "People always care after it's too late. That's not love, Emily. That's guilt."
She was quiet for a moment. "Maybe. But in the ambulance, he wouldn't let go of your hand. The paramedics tried to move him aside for vitals, and he just... refused. And at the hospital, he paced the waiting room for an hour straight. Jack tried to get him to sit, and he didn't even hear him."
I felt something twist in my chest. Pushed it down.
"That doesn't change anything," I said quietly. "He had two years to care whether I was eating enough, sleeping enough, whether the work was crushing me. He chose not to."
"I know." Emily's voice was gentle. "And you're right—people don't get credit for caring only when they're losing something."
"Exactly."
But Emily wasn't finished. "The thing is, as a therapist, I've seen a lot of cases like this. People who can't handle rejection, who try to win back their ex not because they actually care, but because they can't stand the blow to their ego."
She paused, choosing her words. "But what I saw last night... that wasn't ego. That was genuine fear."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to list all the reasons she was wrong, all the evidence of Rowan's indifference over the past two years.
Instead, I heard myself ask: "What's the difference?"
Emily leaned back, considering. "The ego-driven ones, they're anxious about themselves. 'How could I be rejected? How could I fail?' But Rowan wasn't thinking about himself at all. He was thinking about you."
"Guilt," I repeated. "Nora came back because of him. This happened at his hotel. He feels responsible."
"Maybe." Emily didn't sound convinced. "But guilt and love aren't mutually exclusive, Lena."
"They also aren't the same thing." I kept my voice firm. "I'm not interested in being someone's redemption project."
"Fair enough." Emily reached over and squeezed my hand. "For what it's worth, I support whatever you decide. You don't want to give him another chance? Then don't. You've already given him two years."
The tightness in my throat was back. "Thank you."
"Although..." Emily's tone shifted, becoming more conversational. "Speaking of updates, I should probably tell you what I found out yesterday."
I blinked, grateful for the change of subject. "About Maria?"
"Susan," Emily corrected. "Or whoever she really is. I tracked down her old landlord—Mrs. Reid, sweet woman, lives in that building where Susan used to rent."
She pulled out her phone, scrolling through notes. "Turns out Susan left pretty suddenly about a year ago. But before that, she had a visitor. A man, mid-fifties, in an expensive suit, drove a black Mercedes."
My attention sharpened. "Did Mrs. Reid get a name?"
"She heard Susan call him 'Mr. M.'" Emily's expression was grim. "And Lena, Mrs. Reid said Susan was afraid of him. Like he had something over her."
What could that be?
"Did she say where Susan went?"
"No. Just that one day she was there, the next day the apartment was cleared out. Left the furniture, took her personal things, and vanished." Emily put her phone away. "But here's the thing—Mrs. Reid said the man gave Susan an envelope. Thick one. And two days later, Susan was gone."
"He paid her off," I said quietly. "Relocated her."
"That's my guess." Emily's jaw tightened. "Whatever Marcus is planning with this woman, he set it up years in advance."
The pieces were starting to come together, forming a picture I didn't like at all.
My phone buzzed—Alexander, checking in about the damaged phone we'd recovered from Marcus's old apartment. The data recovery was taking longer than expected, but he was optimistic about pulling something useful from it.
"We'll figure it out," Emily said, reading my expression. "Whatever Marcus and this Susan-slash-Maria person are planning, we'll get ahead of it."
"Yeah." I leaned back against the pillows, suddenly exhausted again. "We will."
Emily started telling me about a particularly ridiculous client who'd tried to schedule a therapy session for their cat, and despite everything, I found myself laughing.
For a few minutes, sitting in this hospital room with my best friend, surrounded by Isabelle's flowers and the lingering scent of good food, I could almost believe things would be okay.
Almost.
---
The afternoon light filtered through the hospital window, softer now than the harsh morning glare.
"Lena, I'm done with my business," Isabelle's voice broke into my conversation with Emily. She stood in the doorway, a small basket of fresh fruit in her other hand.
"I thought you two might want some fruit," she said, setting the basket on the bedside table.
"That's so sweet," I said.
Emily grinned. "Well, I guess I'm just lucky to be friends with Lena—I get to enjoy all this special treatment too."
Isabelle laughed. "Any friend of Lena's is practically like a child to me."
We chatted for a while longer. It had been so long since I'd felt this kind of warmth and comfort—I found myself wanting to hold on to the moment, almost unable to believe it was real.
By seven, the light had shifted to amber, and I could see fatigue creeping into both their faces despite their attempts to hide it.
"You should both go," I said. "I'm fine. Really."
Isabelle studied me for a moment, then nodded. "All right. If you’re sure. I’ll come by tomorrow, but only if you want me to."
"You don’t have to," I said, trying to sound reassuring. "I'll be okay."
She smiled gently. "Okay. Just let me know if you need anything."
Emily gathered her things, giving me a soft look. "Then I'll check in on you tomorrow morning, Lena."
I managed a small smile and nodded, suddenly aware of how quiet the room would be once they left.