Sofia stood up abruptly, her hand slipping out of Sara's grasp as if something sharp had suddenly struck her. Her movements were unsteady, a startled flicker passing over her features—realization, confusion, perhaps even fear. Her gaze darted toward Jay, searching his face as if silently praying he hadn't witnessed the undercurrent of emotion that had just passed between the two women.
"You… don't look too well yourself," she said stiffly, her voice nearly faltering. "Jay, please make sure she gets home safely."
There was something jagged in the way she said it, as though speaking cost her more effort than it should have. Then she turned on her heel, flinching slightly as her body reminded her it still hadn't regained full strength. Her legs wobbled beneath her with each step, but she pushed forward, reaching for the bag she had left behind and clutching it like a lifeline.
Jay nodded once, quiet and unreadable. "Goodnight, Mrs. Core," he murmured as she departed.
The moment the door clicked shut behind her, silence fell between Jay and Sara. A heavy, humming sort of quiet—the kind that feels like a leftover echo of something unsaid. They glanced at one another briefly, but neither of them had the words to stitch the moment together.
Then a buzz.
Jay blinked, reached into his pocket, and pulled out Sara's phone. "This fell in the hallway," he said, offering it to her.
Sara took it with a vague smile, more habit than feeling. She glanced at the screen and her jaw tightened instantly.
"Tsk…" she muttered under her breath.
Her mother.
She hadn't even realized how many calls she'd missed. The screen was flooded with them. Jay noticed the shadow that passed over her face, the subtle flicker of disdain she didn't bother to hide.
"You can leave if you want to," Jay said, sensing her sudden shift in mood. "But tomorrow, your presence will be required here—same as today."
Sara didn't even lift her eyes. "I know what was written in the contract," she replied coolly. "That I can't leave before the year is up. So you don't need to remind me."
Her tone had changed. It wasn't biting, just… detached. Since learning Augustine was part of this family, something in her had dulled. The opulence around her, once novel, now felt heavy. The sheen of wealth no longer dazzled—it clung like dust to everything.
Jay studied her for a moment. "I'm glad you're this sharp," he said at last, his voice as neutral as ever. Then he turned and walked out, his footsteps vanishing into the hallway.
Meanwhile, Sofia sat in her car, unmoving. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, but her eyes were fixed on the clean white bandage wrapped around her hand like it held the answer to a riddle she hadn't solved yet.
Sara's face replayed in her mind, vivid and close. Her voice. Her touch.
Sofia felt weak—unreasonably so. Her limbs didn't respond with their usual precision, and her chest felt like it was sinking into itself.
"Why now? Why all of a sudden?" she whispered, almost afraid of the sound of her own voice. She felt her hands shiver in fear.
Leaning her head back against the headrest, Sofia exhaled—long, heavy, uneven. Her breath fogged the glass for a moment as she tried to steady herself, tried to align the chaos in her head with some kind of clarity. Her fingers trembled slightly as they gripped the steering wheel, her only focus now to put distance between herself and the woman who had just shaken something loose inside her.
Ding.
A sudden chime jolted her, breaking her storm of thoughts. Her phone, lying on the passenger seat, lit up with a soft glow. A notification flashed across the screen:"Doctor's Appointment – 1 hour"
Her eyes narrowed at the words. The reminder anchored her, pulled her thoughts into a manageable line. She nodded to herself, a single determined gesture."Everything's going to be fine. Everything," she whispered aloud, her voice low and forceful. "She can't do anything. She doesn't remember… anything."
It sounded like reassurance, but felt like a plea.
--------------------------------
"Miss Sofia..." The doctor adjusted her glasses, letting them rest low on the bridge of her nose. Her hands came together in a tight clasp, her shoulders drawn with quiet defeat. "We've reviewed the scans again and again. I'm sorry to say—"
Sofia's fingers trembled slightly where they rested on her lap, her gaze fixed, unmoving.
"The cancer has metastasized. It's in your ovaries... and now your lungs. Even if we begin treatment immediately, there's no guarantee. Not anymore."
A sharp breath hitched in Sofia's throat—part gasp, part cry. Her lips parted, and though she didn't speak at first, her eyes glossed with tears she fought to hold back. She lowered her gaze to her hands. So small. So breakable."So..." Her voice came out like a fragile echo. "So you're saying... I can't have children anymore?"
The doctor's brow rose in disbelief, a retort rising fast to her lips. But she caught herself, inhaling instead, then sighing long through her nose. Her face softened, if only slightly."Sofia..." she said, as gently as possible, "Is giving birth all you're thinking about right now? We're talking about your life."
Sofia looked up, her expression hollow, then fierce. "I have to."
"If we don't take measures now, you'll be gone before you realize it." The doctor's restraint cracked; her voice sharpened. "I recommended a hysterectomy three years ago. And I'm saying it again now. Don't be reckless. Childbirth is not more important than your life. Do you hear me?"
A silence hung between them, dense and unspeakable.
Then came Sofia's answer, nearly a whisper, yet sharp as glass."They'll kill me long before this cancer does..." she muttered, the truth bitter on her tongue. "This is the only thing I had left to offer anyone..."
Her voice broke at the edges, and though her face remained composed, her soul had already begun to crack.
"Listen to me—" The doctor leaned forward, her voice edged with a frustration that had long since turned into weary sorrow. "I've tried... I've tried to make you see reason for years now. And I know—you won't listen. You never do. But at least..."
She paused, the words catching like thorns in her throat. Then she reached out and gently took Sofia's hand in both of hers, her touch uncharacteristically soft.
"At least live, from now on," she said, her voice trembling despite her effort to remain composed. "Not for them. Not to prove anything to anyone. Don't waste what little time you have left trying to please people who've never truly seen you. Just live. Take it from me... not as your doctor, but as your friend."
Sadness shimmered in her eyes—an ache she had long held for the woman in front of her. A woman who had given so much of herself, and asked for so little in return. "