My fingers tighten around the folder. I nod, even though my chest feels tight. I look at the room door. Lana is inside, sitting on the bed with her arms wrapped around herself, as if she's freezing.

I walk in slowly.

She lifts her eyes when she hears my steps. Her face is soft for a second, then fear fills it again. She pulls her knees up and hugs them, like she wants to hide.

I stop a few steps away so I don't scare her.

"Lana," I say gently. "They signed it. You can come home now."

Her fingers squeeze the blanket. She lowers her head. "I... I don't want to leave."

My heart drops. I take a step closer. She leans back like I'm a flame.

"Why?" I ask, my voice small.

"I feel safe here," she whispers. "Here... people are around. Here... I can breathe."

"I won't hurt you," I say before I can stop myself.

Her eyes lift to mine. There's something sharp in them. Not anger. Not hate. Something like pain.

"You say that," she murmurs, "but I don't know you."

Her words cut through me. I swallow them down.

I move to the small closet and lift the bag I packed earlier. Her clothes. Her creams. The sweater she once loved. I hold it to my chest before I turn to her again.

"Everything is ready," I say.

"I didn't ask you to pack my things," she replies quickly.

"I know." I place the bag by the chair. "But I didn't want you to worry about anything."

She looks away.

The air between us grows heavy.

A nurse steps in. "Time to move her out."

Lana's shoulders shake. She stands slowly, keeping one hand on the bed for balance. I want to reach out to help her, but I keep my hands at my sides. She watches them, as if waiting for them to grab her.

I bite the inside of my cheek and step back.

She walks past me. Her steps are slow, uneven. When her knees wobble, I react without thinking and put my hand under her elbow.

She flinches so hard she almost falls.

"I'm sorry," I say fast, pulling my hand away and holding it up. "I'm sorry, Lana. I won't touch you. I promise."

She breathes fast, her chest rising and falling like she's running.

The nurse leads us down the hall. Lana walks beside her, a little closer to her than to me.

When we reach the exit door, the cold wind hits us. Lana sucks in a breath.

The black car waits at the curb. I open the back door for her.

She doesn't move.

"Lana..." I whisper.

She shakes her head. "I don't want to sit with you."

The words punch me. I blink it away.

"You can sit on the other side," I say gently. "I'll stay far."

She hesitates, then steps in. She presses herself close to the door, staring out the window like the world outside might save her. I close the door softly and walk around to the other side.

When I slide into the seat beside her, she stiffens. Every line of her body screams distance. She looks straight ahead. Her hands are tight fists on her lap.

I put on my seat belt.

"Ready?" I ask.

She doesn't answer.

I start the car.

The road stretches ahead, long and quiet. My hands lie still on the wheel. I keep my voice low so she doesn't think I'm pushing.

"If you're tired, you can rest," I say.

Her head snaps toward me. "Don't tell me what to do."

The words sting, but I nod. "Okay."

Silence fills the car again.

Her fingers tremble in her lap. Her eyes keep jumping from the window to the door. I see it-the trapped feeling crawling through her chest. Her breathing shakes. She looks like a small bird inside a box.

"Lana," I whisper, "you're safe."

Her body jerks like I hit her.

"Stop saying that," she says, her voice cracking. "You keep saying I'm safe, but I don't feel it."

My breath leaves me. I grip the wheel. "Tell me what you need."

"Space," she says fast. "Room. Air."

"You'll have it," I promise. "At home, you-"

"Don't call it home," she cuts in. "It's your home. Not mine."

I feel the words burn. But I nod slowly.

The light turns red, and the car stops.

That's when she turns. Her eyes go to the door handle. Her fingers move toward it-slow at first, then fast.

My heart slams.

"Lana-wait!"

She pulls the handle hard. The door clicks.

I reach out instinctively-not rough, not tight, just enough to stop her from falling onto the road.

My hand wraps around her wrist.

She freezes.

Her breath catches, sharp. Her eyes fly to where my fingers touch her skin.

"Don't-" she whispers like a broken sound.

I let go immediately and raise both hands. "I'm not holding you. I'm not stopping you. I just don't want you to get hurt."

The door stays half open. Cold air rushes in, blowing her hair across her face. She sits still, trembling as she stares at freedom outside and fear inside.

Cars behind us honk.

"Please," I say softly, "let me close the door. Just that. Nothing more."

She doesn't speak.

Her shoulders drop a little.

I lean forward slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants. She doesn't. I touch the door and close it gently.

Her breath shudders out. She leans her head on the glass, eyes shut tight.

I stay perfectly still.

When the light turns green, I drive again.

Fifteen minutes pass. She doesn't talk. She stares at her hands like she doesn't trust them.

"Lana..." I begin, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have touched you. Even to stop you from falling."

Her lips press tight. She whispers, "I don't know what's real."

My chest twists. "I know."

"You say you're my husband," she says, eyes still on the window. "But I don't... feel it. I don't feel anything. I don't know you."

The words are soft. But they break something inside me.

"I'll earn it back," I say.

She shakes her head fast. "You talk like you own my life."

"I don't," I whisper. "I just... I care."

"That's what scares me," she says.

The car goes quiet again.

I pull into the underground garage of the building. She watches the walls closing around us. Her hands start shaking again.

"Please," she whispers, almost too soft to hear. "I don't want to be here."

"I know," I say gently. "But you need rest. I promise I'll keep distance."

I park and open my door.

When I walk to her side, she pulls her legs up like she wants to hide.

"I'll stand back," I say.

I take three steps away.

"Come when you're ready."

She opens the door slowly, her eyes always on me. Like a wild animal watching a hand it doesn't trust.

She stands on shaky feet.

I keep my hands behind my back so she sees I won't touch her.

When we walk to the elevator, she walks close to the wall, not to me. Her breaths are fast, short. Each step looks like it costs her something.

The elevator doors open.

She steps inside and stays near the corner. I stand near the door.

The doors close.

The quiet inside becomes thick.

She stares at the floor. Her fingers twist the bottom of her shirt. I want to speak, but my throat feels tight.

When the doors slide open again, she walks out fast, like she's escaping.

I follow her at a slow pace.

At the front door of the penthouse, she stops. Her shoulders lift and fall as she gathers air.

"Lana?"

She doesn't turn.

I reach forward, slow and careful, and place the key in the lock. The door clicks open. I step back again.

"You can go in first," I say softly.

She stands still for a long moment. Then she steps inside.

And freezes.

Her breath leaves her in a sharp, small sound.

I follow her gaze-and my heartbeat stops.

Because someone is standing inside the living room.

A woman.

Back turned.

Long dark hair falling down her back.

She turns slowly at the sound of our steps.

Lana takes a step back. Her hand grabs the door frame.

My eyes widen.

The woman smiles.

"Hello, Adrian," she says softly.

"As promised... I came back."

Lana's fingers dig into the wood.

My own breath stops.

Because the woman standing there is-

the last person Lana should ever see.

Chapter 6 The Discharge

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