Chapter 67 The echoes of the morning
The morning sun didn't burst into the room; it crept in, a pale, hesitant silver that filtered through the lace curtains and rested on the edge of the duvet. I felt the weight of the previous night’s medication pulling at my eyelids like lead. My dreams had been a chaotic labyrinth of sterile hospital corridors in Istanbul and the rain-slicked pavement of the suburbs, a blurred montage of the two men who held the compass of my life in their hands.
"Elena."
The voice was a soft intrusion, cutting through the haze of the sedative. I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow, the scent of lavender detergent and old secrets clinging to the fabric.
"Elena, wake up, sunshine. The world is moving without you."
I rolled over, squinting against the light. Maya was standing by the vanity, already halfway dressed in a crisp, white button-down shirt that made her look like the professional she was becoming. She looked vibrant, energized, a sharp contrast to the hollowed-out version of myself staring back from the mirror.
"Mmm... morning, Maya," I rasped, my throat dry. The effect of the pills still filled my eyes, making the edges of the room seem soft and unfocused.
"Sorry, youngy," Maya said, her voice dropping into that persuasive, sweet tone she used when she was about to ask for a favor. She was fussing with her collar, her reflection focused and sharp. "But can you please prepare Leo for me? I’m running a bit late for the morning briefing, and my boss is in one of those 'punctuality is a virtue' moods. I’ll spoil you by month-end, I promise. My baby gets a treat on payday."
I sat up slowly, the world tilting for a brief second before settling. Despite the fog in my brain, a small, genuine smile tugged at my lips. "Stop it, Maya. You don't have to pay me to look after my nephew. I enjoy being around Leo, and I’ll help you out with him. He’s the only person in this house who doesn't ask me complicated questions."
Maya turned, crossing the room in three quick strides to squeeze me into a tight, fragrant hug. She kissed my forehead, her eyes shining with a mix of relief and affection. "Thank you so much, El. You are such a blessing, truly. I don't know how we’d manage without you."
I leaned back against the headboard as she returned to the mirror, buttoning her cuffs with practiced speed. The warmth of the hug lingered, but the silence that followed felt heavy. The memory of the muffled voices from the living room last night—the deep, disappointed rumble of my father’s voice—began to claw its way to the surface.
"Maya," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Hmm?" she hummed, applying a quick swipe of tinted lip balm.
"I heard the conversation with Dad last night. I heard everything."
Maya froze. Her hand stayed poised near her face for a second too long before she slowly lowered it. She turned to look at me, her expression shifting from professional focus to a guarded, protective stillness. "And what about it?" she asked, her eyes searching mine.
"Don't you think Dad might be right?" I asked, the words feeling like stones in my mouth. "What if Victor changes? What if, as soon as he recovers and stands on his own two feet, he becomes... himself? The billionaire. The man who doesn't need a nurse anymore."
Maya opened her mouth to interrupt, but I shook my head, the momentum of my own doubt pushing me forward.
"Dad is right about what I did to Liam. It was wrong, Maya. I kept digging for unnecessary excuses to leave him just so I wouldn't feel like the villain. I looked for flaws where there were only mistakes. His karma... it’s going to catch up with me, isn't it? I built my happiness on the wreckage of a man who was just trying to help someone."
"Stop it. Just stop it, El," Maya said, her voice turning firm, almost sharp. She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, taking my hands in hers. Her grip was cold and steady. "There is no such thing as karma for choosing yourself. You chose what makes you happy. You chose a life where you could breathe, where you could create. Where is the wrongness in that? Stop allowing every bit of negativity in this house to have an effect on you. Please."
"But Maya, you know Dad," I argued, my voice trembling. "He’s not too verbal. He doesn't usually open his mouth and speak unless it is the truth. He doesn't waste words on lies. If he feels this way... if he thinks I’ve traded my modesty for luxury..."
"Dad just loves Liam, baby sis," Maya interrupted, her eyes softening but her resolve remaining iron-clad. "He sees a version of himself in Liam—the hardworking man, the underdog. He’s projecting his own values onto a situation he doesn't fully understand because he wasn't the one in the passenger seat. Stop allowing people to dim your peace and happiness. Be you, just once, without apologizing for it."
She stood up, checking her watch with a frustrated click of her tongue. "I’m leaving now. I’m already five minutes behind. Please, take care of yourself today. Eat something that isn't crackers, and call me at the tiniest inconvenience. I mean it, Elena. One dizzy spell and I’m coming home."
She grabbed her bag and rushed out, the sound of her heels clicking rhythmically down the hallway until the front door thudded shut.
I stood there in the center of the room, the silence of the house rushing back in to fill the space she had left. The sunlight was stronger now, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air, but I felt cold.
“Building a house on sand,” my father had said.
I walked to the window and watched Maya’s car pull out of the driveway. My father’s words were a low, persistent hum in my ears, replaying with every beat of my heart. He wasn't a man of many words, which made the ones he chose feel like a prophecy.
Was I chasing a shadow? Was Victor’s love just a byproduct of his vulnerability? And Liam... the man who had vanished after finally telling his truth. I touched my stomach, the tiny life inside me a silent witness to the chaos.
I was a woman between two worlds, and as I turned to go wake Leo, I realized that the hardest person to convince wasn't my father or the Jenkins family.
It was the girl staring back at me from the glass, wondering if she had traded her soul for a dream that was never meant to be hers.