Chapter 6

Janet POV

The TV screen in the hospital waiting area was huge, high-definition, and unforgivingly cruel.

It replayed the moment on a loop.

Garrison, dropping to one knee. The diamond catching the strobe-light flash of a hundred cameras. Kayla's hands flying to her mouth in a performance of practiced surprise.

I stood there, the plastic bag containing my mother's personal effects cutting into my fingers, watching my husband promise forever to the woman who had slowly, methodically poisoned my life.

"Janet."

The voice didn't come from the TV.

I turned.

Garrison stood at the entrance of the waiting room. He was still wearing the tuxedo from the broadcast, though the bow tie was undone, hanging loose around his neck. He looked like a disheveled prince from a fractured fairy tale-breathless, flushed, and frantic.

But he wasn't alone.

Kayla was right behind him, clutching his arm with a vice grip, her other hand fanning her face as if the sterile hospital air was too thin for her delicate lungs.

"I saw the news," I said. My voice felt distant, like I was speaking from the bottom of a well.

Garrison stepped forward, his polished dress shoes clicking sharply on the linoleum. He looked torn, that familiar crease appearing between his eyebrows-the look he cultivated when he wanted to convince a jury that a guilty man was actually a victim of circumstance.

"Janet, I..." He stopped, running a hand through his hair. "I tried to call you."

"To invite me?" I asked, my tone flat.

"Don't be like that," he said, his voice dropping to a hushed plea. "You know the pressure I'm under. The board... my parents... they need this merger. It's strictly for the firm's image."

He reached out, hovering as if to touch my shoulder, but froze when I didn't flinch.

"I love you," he whispered, the words sliding out of him like slick oil. "You know I do. But I have a responsibility to Kayla. She's been through so much."

I stared at him, feeling my stomach churn.

"Responsibility," I repeated, tasting the bile. "You talk about responsibility while wearing a tux you bought with the money I saved for my mother's surgery?"

"That's not fair," he hissed, glancing around to see if anyone was watching. "I'll pay you back. I always pay you back."

"How?" I asked. "With a fountain pen? With empty promises?"

He looked away, his jaw tightening. "You're being irrational. I am trying to protect everyone here."

"How is my mother?" I asked suddenly.

He blinked, derailed. "What?"

"My mother. The woman lying in room 304. The woman you promised to take care of when I signed over my life to you five years ago. How is she?"

He shifted his weight, uncomfortable in his expensive skin. "I... I haven't checked today. I've been busy."

"You forgot," I said, the realization settling cold in my chest. "You forgot she exists. Just like you forgot who put her there."

I looked past him at Kayla.

She was watching us with eyes like a hawk-sharp, predatory, and amused. When our gazes locked, she didn't flinch. She smiled.

She let go of Garrison's arm and stepped smoothly between us, physically blocking him from me.

"Oh, Janet," she sighed, her voice dripping with sickeningly sweet sympathy. "Please don't make this harder on him. He's exhausted."

She opened her clutch-a glittering silver thing that cost more than my car-and pulled out a checkbook.

"I know things are... tight for you," she said. She quickly scribbled something, the pen scratching loudly in the quiet room, and ripped out the check. She held it out to me between two manicured fingers.

"Here. Five million. It's drawn on my personal account. Consider it a severance package. Or a thank you for... stepping aside."

I looked at the piece of paper.

Five million dollars.

It could buy a house. It could buy a new life. It could pay for the best specialists in the country.

But looking at it, all I saw was the price tag she had put on my dignity.

"Take it," Garrison said softly, eager for a resolution. "It will help, Janet."

He wanted me to take it. He wanted to buy his conscience clean so he could sleep tonight.

I reached out and took the check.

Kayla's smile widened, triumphant. "See? I told you she'd be reasonable."

I held the check up to my face.

Then, slowly, deliberately, I tore it down the middle.

The sound was sharp, like a bone snapping.

Then again. And again.

I let the pieces flutter to the floor like dirty confetti.

"Your money," I said, my voice steady, "is filthy."

Kayla's smile vanished instantly.

She gasped, her hand flying to her chest. She swayed, her knees buckling in a theatrical faint.

"Garrison!" she cried out, her voice pitching up into a wail. "My heart... I can't breathe!"

She collapsed against him, burying her face in his jacket.

"She's hurting me!" she sobbed, muffled against the silk lapel. "Why is she so cruel?"

Garrison caught her, his face transforming from guilt to protective anger in a split second. It was easier for him to be angry at me than to look at himself. He wrapped his arms around her, glaring at me over her head.

"Are you happy now?" he spat. "Look what you did. You know she's fragile."

He didn't look at me. He didn't see the woman who had carried him for five years. He only saw the monster Kayla had painted me to be.

"I'm taking her home," he said coldly. "Don't follow us."

He scooped Kayla up into his arms. She buried her face in his neck, hiding from the world.

But then, she peeked out.

Just for a second, over his shoulder.

She winked at me.

I stood frozen as Garrison carried her toward the exit, his back turned to me, his steps urgent and caring-the way he used to walk when I was the one in his arms.

"Garrison," I called out.

He stopped, but he didn't turn around.

"Do you really think," I asked quietly, the words hanging in the sterile air, "that this is worth it?"

He didn't answer.

He walked out the automatic doors, carrying his prize, leaving his conscience behind in the unforgiving white light of the hospital lobby.