Too Late, Mr. Mills: Watch Me Leave

The damp ferns slapped against her shins, cold and slick against her skin. The morning fog was so thick it felt like wet cotton stuffed down her throat. Adriana Guzman pushed through the underbrush, her voice nothing but a raw scrape of sound.

"Pippa!"

She had been screaming that name for nearly two days and nights. Two days of no real sleep, no food, surviving on nothing but cold creek water and the raw adrenaline that had become her only fuel. The relentless, driving panic kept her legs moving even when her lungs burned and her vision blurred. Her silk skirt was shredded, hanging in muddy ribbons around her knees. Dirt caked her fingernails, and tear tracks cut clean lines through the grime on her face.

"Pippa, please!"

Her throat closed up, choking on the name. She stumbled over a rotting log, her ankle twisting, but the pain didn't register. Nothing registered except the gaping hole in her chest where her daughter should be.

And then, a flash of color.

Through the grey mist and the green leaves, a violent splash of red. It was a beacon, a flare gun fired right into her retina.

It was the dress. The red sundress with the white daisies embroidered along the hem. Pippa had picked it out herself, spinning in front of the mirror just last week, laughing because it made her look like a ladybug.

Adriana's heart slammed against her ribs so hard she thought they would crack. She lunged forward, her feet slipping on the wet leaves. Maybe she just took it off. Maybe she got hot. Maybe she's hiding.

She crashed through the final line of bushes, her breath held until her lungs screamed. She fell to her knees on the soft, damp earth.

Pippa was there.

She was curled up at the base of the massive oak tree, her small body tucked into a tight ball. She looked like a doll that had been tossed aside, a toy forgotten in the woods. Her dark hair was tangled over her face, her skin a sickly, waxy white.

"No." The word was a whisper, barely audible over the pounding of blood in Adriana's ears. "No, no, no."

The world went silent. The birds stopped singing. The wind stopped blowing. There was nothing but a high-pitched ringing in her ears, a sound that drilled into her brain. She reached out, her hand shaking so violently she could barely control it.

Her fingertips brushed Pippa's cheek.

It was cold. Not cool, not sleeping cold. It was the cold of stone, of meat left out in the winter. It was the cold of death.

The sound that tore from Adriana's throat wasn't human. It was a guttural, ripping noise that came from somewhere deep in her stomach. It was the sound of a soul being shredded. She collapsed forward, gathering the tiny, stiff body into her arms. She pulled Pippa against her chest, trying to press her own feverish heat into that frozen skin.

"Wake up," she sobbed, rocking back and forth. "Please wake up. Mama's here. I'm here."

But the small head just lolled against her shoulder. There was no response. No hug back. No little arms wrapping around her neck.

The shrill ringtone of her phone cut through the haze of grief. It was a loud, cheerful chime that sounded obscene in the silence of the woods. Adriana fumbled in her pocket, her hands numb and clumsy. She didn't look at the screen. She just swiped to answer.

"Hello?" Her voice was a broken croak.

"Adriana." The voice on the other end was flat, clipped, and laced with irritation. "This game needs to end. I'm tired of it."

Everette. Her husband. The father of the child in her arms.

"Everette," she gasped, the words tumbling out. "I found her. I found Pippa."

There was a pause, filled with the crackle of the overseas connection. And then, the distinct clink of ice against glass. The low murmur of music and laughter in the background.

"Are you listening to yourself?" he asked, his tone dripping with disdain. "You're dragging this out too far, even for you."

She shook her head, even though he couldn't see her. "No, you don't understand. She's dead. She's in my arms, Everette. Our daughter is dead."

A short, sharp laugh echoed through the speaker. "Dead? That's your new angle? You think telling me my daughter is dead will make me book a flight home from Milan?"

The words hit her like a physical blow, knocking the air out of her lungs. He thought she was lying. He thought this was a strategy, a ploy to get his attention.

"I'm not lying!" she screamed, her voice cracking, raw and bleeding. "She's cold! She's not breathing!"

"Enough." His voice turned to ice, cutting through her hysteria. "When you decide to act like an adult and drop this act, call me back. Until then, don't bother."

"Everette, wait-"

"Is everything okay, dear?" A soft, feminine voice floated through the receiver. It was sweet, solicitous, and utterly fake. It was Becky Clay.

Everette's tone shifted instantly, melting into something warm and indulgent. "It's fine. Just a minor inconvenience."

The contrast was a bucket of ice water dumped over her head. The warmth he gave to another woman while his wife held their dead child. It was the final crack in the dam.

Click.

The line went dead. The silence of the woods rushed back in, heavier than before.

Adriana stared at the black screen of her phone. She looked down at Pippa's pale face. She was alone. Truly, completely alone. Her husband hated her. Her daughter was gone.

In the distance, the wail of sirens pierced the quiet. Red and blue lights flashed through the trees, strobing across the damp bark. Shouts echoed through the forest.

"Over here! We found them!"

Flashlight beams cut through the fog, blinding her. She didn't look up. She didn't shield her eyes. She just held Pippa tighter, pressing her lips to the cold, rigid forehead, kissing it over and over again.

The world had ended, but the people around her just kept breathing.

The smell hit her first. That sharp, sterile sting of alcohol and industrial cleaner that crawled into your nose and stayed there. Adriana blinked, the harsh fluorescent lights burning her retinas. A white ceiling tiles stared back down at her.

She tried to move, but a sharp, pulling sensation stopped her. She looked down. An IV needle was taped to the back of her hand, clear fluid dripping down the tube and into her veins.

Hospital. She was in a hospital.

And then the memory hit her like a freight train. The woods. The cold. Pippa.

Adriana gasped, her back arching off the mattress as she tried to sit up. She had to get out. She had to-

"Guzman Ms. Guzman, please!" A nurse rushed to the bed, pressing a firm hand against her shoulder. "You need to stay calm. You've been unconscious for two days."

Two days. The words echoed in her skull. Two days since her world ended.

"Where is she?" Adriana rasped, her throat feeling like sandpaper. "Where is my daughter?"

The nurse's face softened into that practiced look of pity. "Please, just rest. Your friend is here."

The door banged open, and Janna Glenn flew into the room. Her red hair was a mess, her eyes swollen and rimmed in red, but she was alive. She was solid and real.

"Adriana!" Janna grabbed her hand, squeezing so hard her knuckles turned white. "Oh my god, you're awake."

The touch broke something inside her. The tears came silently, sliding down her cheeks, hot and fast. She squeezed Janna's hand back, anchoring herself to the only person left who cared.

"I found her," Adriana whispered, her voice hollow. "I held her, Janna. She was so cold."

Janna climbed onto the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms around Adriana's shoulders, holding her tight. "I know. I know, sweetie. I'm so sorry."

They stayed like that for a long time, until the door swung open again.

This time, the entrance wasn't frantic. It was deliberate. A tall silhouette stepped into the room, blocking the light from the hallway. Everette Mills.

He looked like a man who had been pulled through time against his will. His expensive suit was deeply creased, his tie loosened as if he'd been fighting it for air. His eyes were shot with red, a stark contrast to the forced composure of his posture. He looked tired, but it was an annoyed kind of tired, like a CEO delayed by traffic.

Adriana's chest seized up. Her lungs refused to work. The sight of him standing there, whole and perfect, while Pippa was in a morgue drawer, was an obscenity.

But it wasn't just him.

A head peeked out from behind his broad shoulder. Becky Clay. She was wearing a simple white sundress, her blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She looked the picture of innocence, her blue eyes wide with concern.

"Adriana," Becky said softly, her voice trembling slightly. "Are you okay? Everette flew back as soon as he heard. We were so worried."

We. The word was a serrated knife twisting in her gut.

Adriana stared at the woman who had been whispering in her husband's ear, the woman who had been the shadow destroying her marriage. And now she was standing at his side, playing the saint.

A laugh bubbled up in Adriana's throat. It was a harsh, grating sound, completely devoid of humor. It scraped against the quiet room.

Everette frowned, his lip curling in distaste. "What is this now? Another performance?"

Adriana stopped laughing. The humor vanished, leaving only a void. She looked at him, her eyes dead. "My daughter is dead. And you brought your mistress to her funeral?"

Becky gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Tears instantly welled in her eyes. She shrank back, stepping behind Everette, using him as a shield. "I'm not... I would never... I was just worried about you."

Everette's face hardened. He shifted his body, physically shielding Becky from Adriana's gaze. "Don't project your paranoia onto her. She's here because I asked her to be. Stop dragging innocent people into your delusions."

It was the final nail. He wasn't just indifferent; he was actively protecting the other woman. He thought she was crazy. He thought her grief was an act.

Adriana looked down at her hand. The IV needle was still there, pumping fluids into her body, keeping her alive. A body that didn't want to live.

She grabbed the needle and yanked.

"Hey!" the nurse shouted.

Blood spurted from the vein, a bright, vivid red against her pale skin. It dripped onto the white sheets, blooming like a flower. But Adriana didn't feel the sting. She felt nothing at all.

She threw her legs over the side of the bed. The room spun, black spots dancing in her vision, but she forced herself to stand. Her knees buckled instantly.

Everette moved. He stepped forward, his hand shooting out to grab her arm. But his grip wasn't gentle. It was hard, controlling, forcing her to stay still.

"Don't touch me!" Adriana shrieked, trying to wrench her arm away.

Janna was on her feet in a second, stepping between them. She shoved Everette's shoulder, her face contorted with rage. "Get your hands off her! Haven't you done enough? What, did you come here to finish the job?"

Everette glared at Janna, his jaw clenched. "This is between me and my wife."

"She's not your wife!" Janna yelled back. "She's a person! A person who just lost her child!"

Adriana stood there, swaying slightly, watching the two people fight over her. Janna, fierce and protective. Everette, cold and domineering. And Becky, peeking out from behind him, her face a carefully constructed mask of concern that didn't quite reach her eyes.

It was all a nightmare. And she couldn't wake up.

The air in the room was thick enough to choke on. Everette ignored Janna, stepping around her like she was a piece of furniture. He stopped right in front of Adriana, towering over her. He looked down at her with a mixture of impatience and disgust.

He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a checkbook. A Montblanc pen appeared in his hand. He clicked it open, the sound sharp in the silence.

"Name your price," he said, his voice flat. "How much will it take for you to stop this circus and sign the divorce papers?"

He was buying her silence. He was paying her off for their dead daughter.

Adriana stared at the checkbook. The anger, the hysteria, the screaming-it all drained out of her, leaving a cold, empty shell. There was nothing left to burn.

Janna lunged forward, her hand reaching for the checkbook. "You son of a-"

One of the bodyguards who had entered behind Everette caught her arm, holding her back.

Adriana didn't look at Janna. She didn't look at the checkbook. She looked up at Everette's face. "You really don't believe me," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "You think Pippa is a lie I made up."

Everette let out a short, humorless laugh. "I know you, Adriana. You'd say anything to keep me tied to you. But those days are over. Becky is the future of the Mills family, not you."

As if on cue, the television mounted on the wall flickered to life. The nurse at the station had turned it on for the midday news.

"-breaking news out of Long Island," the anchor said, his face grave. "We have confirmed reports that Pippa Mills, the five-year-old daughter of Everette Mills, CEO of Mills Corporation, was found deceased in the woods of the Guzman Estate early this morning-"

The voice droned on, but the words were white noise. The screen showed a picture of Pippa. That same gap-toothed smile, the bright eyes. Next to it, aerial footage of the estate, police cars clustered like ants.

Everette froze. The pen slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor. The color drained from his face so fast he looked like a ghost. He slowly turned his head toward the screen, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly open.

"-authorities have ruled out foul play at this time, though the investigation is ongoing. The mother, Adriana Guzman, was hospitalized for shock-"

The checkbook dropped from his limp hand.

Becky Clay's face went entirely white. Her eyes darted to the screen, then to Everette, and for a split second, a flicker of pure panic crossed her features before she masked it.

Everette swayed on his feet. He looked like a man who had just been shot. He slowly turned back to Adriana. The arrogance, the coldness-it was all gone. Replaced by a raw, terrifying horror.

"Adriana..." he breathed, but no sound came out. His mouth moved, but he was choking on the truth.

Adriana watched him. She waited for the satisfaction, the vindication. It didn't come. There was only exhaustion. A bone-deep weariness that made her want to close her eyes and never open them again.

"Get out," she said quietly.

Janna yanked her arm free from the bodyguard, her chest heaving. She pointed at the door. "You heard her. Get out!"

Becky tried to slip toward the door, but Everette's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. He held it in a vice grip, his knuckles white, though his eyes were still locked on Adriana.

"Leave," Janna repeated, her voice shaking. "All of you."

The bodyguards looked at Everette. He didn't move. He just stared at Adriana, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his breath coming in short gasps.

"Janna," Adriana said, her voice hollow. "I want to be alone."

Janna hesitated, her eyes filled with worry. But she nodded. She shot one last glare at Everette, then turned and walked out, pulling the door shut behind her.

The room was quiet. Just the hum of the television and the sound of Everette's ragged breathing.

Adriana turned away from him. She climbed back onto the bed, her movements slow and mechanical. She pulled the thin hospital blanket up to her chin, closing her eyes.

She didn't want to look at him anymore. She didn't want to see the regret that was too late.

Her hand, fumbling beneath the pillow, didn't find comfort. Instead, her fingers brushed against the worn fabric of the coat Janna had brought from her apartment. A coat she hadn't worn in years. Deep in the pocket, her fingers closed around a small, familiar plastic bottle. The sleeping pills. From before. From a time when the darkness was a different kind of monster. She had hidden them, just in case. She had forgotten them. But they were here. Waiting.

Now was the time.

While Everette stood there, paralyzed by the reality of what he had done, Adriana popped the cap. She didn't need water. She just tilted her head back, forcing down a dry, choking handful, and then another. The pills were bitter and sharp on her tongue.

The room started to blur at the edges. The colors bled together. She felt a strange sense of peace settling over her, a heavy blanket pulling her down into the dark.

Pippa, I'm coming.

Janna, I'm sorry. Live for me.

"Adriana." Everette's voice broke through the fog. He sounded desperate, panicked. "Adriana, talk to me. I didn't know. My god, I didn't know."

She felt a hand on her shoulder, shaking her. But it was too far away. She was already sinking.

She opened her eyes one last time. Everette was leaning over her, his face twisted in agony. It was the first time she had ever seen him look human.

But it didn't matter. It was too late.

She closed her eyes, and the darkness took her.