Ms. Georgina stepped into the hospital room, quietly shutting the door behind her. Anna sat propped against the pillows, her fingers twisting together, eyes unfocused.
Georgina paused, watching her daughter, frail, healing, but quieter than before. She carried two plastic bags of food, their handles biting into her fingers. The scent of grilled rice and steamed vegetables lingered in the air, warm and comforting, but she didn't feel comforted.
She had left earlier that morning, just for a while, to shower, to breathe, to cry where Anna couldn't see her. Three hours away, her hospital colleagues had called again, gently insisting she take all the time she needed. They'd seen her name on the news, the headlines pairing it with blurred photographs and the courtroom verdict that followed. Not guilty. The phrase still echoed like a bruise. And yet, her coworkers still believed her. That meant something.
Anna looked up as Georgina approached, her lips twitching into a faint smile. She shifted slightly to make room on the bed.
"When did you wake up?" Georgina asked, brushing a lock of hair behind her daughter's ear.
"Not long ago," Anna murmured. "The doctor said I might be discharged the day after tomorrow."
Her voice was dry, stretched thin. Georgina opened one of the plastic containers and handed her a spoon. Anna accepted it and immediately dug in, her appetite surprisingly strong.
Georgina sat beside her and opened her own plate, though the food held no appeal. She hadn't tasted anything in days. The events had folded time in on itself, blurred hours, sleepless nights. Sometimes she'd find her shirt worn inside out or catch her reflection and not recognize the face staring back.
She glanced at Anna, who was still eating steadily. There was something brave in that. Brave, and unbearably tender.
"I'm glad you're feeling better today," Georgina said softly.
Anna nodded, swallowing. "The nausea's gone. The medicine's helping."
Georgina watched her closely. Her hand rested lightly on the bed beside her plate. "Good," she whispered, though a knot formed in her chest. The justice she'd hoped for had never come. The courtroom had chosen its side, and it hadn't been Anna's.
For a moment, silence filled the space between them, the low hum of hospital machines blending with their unspoken thoughts.
Then Anna glanced at the blank television screen and asked, almost too casually, "Do you know what's keeping Vivian? She hasn't visited."
Georgina froze.
"I thought she'd come," Anna continued. "Maybe she's scared. I don't know... I've been thinking about her a lot."
Georgina set her fork down slowly. The question she had been dreading had finally come. She looked at her daughter, so gentle, so ready to forgive.
"I think something happened," Anna said, hopeful. "Maybe someone told her not to come. Or she's overwhelmed."
Georgina's chest ached. Anna's kindness was both her greatest strength and deepest wound.
"Can you call her for me?" Anna asked. "Just to check in?"
Georgina hesitated, then shook her head. "Anna... it's best if you don't."
Anna blinked, confused. "Is it because she didn't try to stop him? I've already forgiven her. You know how she gets around those boys. She freezes up. She was probably just scared."
She gave a small, bittersweet laugh. "She always talked about them, remember? But she'd never dare go near them. That day, she just hid."
"Anna," Georgina said, her voice strained. "She's not your friend."
Anna frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"She testified in court," Georgina said, carefully. "Vivian told the judge that you weren't raped. She said you and the boy kissed. That you initiated everything. That... you seduced him."
The words hung in the air, heavy and impossible.
Anna's hands flew to her head. "No," she whispered. "She wouldn't say that. She, she was there. She saw what happened."
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
"She said I seduced him?"
Georgina reached for her hand, but Anna pulled away, shaking her head. "Why would she do that to me?"
"There was money involved," Georgina said gently. "They bought her silence. Bought her lies."
Anna folded into herself, as if trying to disappear. Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs.
"She must've been forced," she said, choking. "They must've made her. Threatened her. That's not Vivian. She'd never—she—"
"If she loved you like you loved her," Georgina said, her voice trembling, "she would've told the truth. No matter the cost."
Anna stared at her lap. She no longer looked like a girl recovering, she looked like someone watching the world come undone.
Without a word, Georgina stood and retrieved her iPad from her purse. Her hands moved quickly. A video began to play. Vivian's voice filled the room, crisp and confident.
"I'm Vivian Jen, Anna's best friend. It's true I was there the night it happened, but Samuel didn't assault her. They kissed. They made love. She seduced him."
The screen darkened as Anna's trembling hand let the device fall onto the bed. She covered her face and wept. Her sobs came deep, raw, wounds reopened by betrayal sharper than any court ruling.
Georgina pulled her close and held her. There were no more words left to say.
———
Samuel sat motionless behind the wheel, his gaze fixed on the low, concrete outline of the hospital. Three ambulances were parked near the entrance, their lights off, their presence quiet but heavy. A group of staff emerged from the sliding doors, murmuring among themselves as they disappeared around the side of the building. Their blue uniforms in the late afternoon light, neat and impersonal.
The parking lot was still. Red bushes lined the sidewalk, their leaves rustling faintly in the breeze. Samuel's car idled beside the curb, where he had parked almost an hour ago. He hadn't moved. He didn't want to. He had come here for one reason, to see her again. Not even to speak, necessarily. Just to know she was still real. To hear the sound of her voice in the air, even from a distance. That voice had shattered him the first time he heard it, not because it was loud, but because it knew how to hurt him, gently, without even trying.
Earlier that day, he had spent three grueling hours listening to the assistant director of Nickel Boron, an older man who tutored him in the inner workings of the company. The man's voice was harsh, nasal, too loud for the quiet of their sitting room. His mother had sat across from them, legs elegantly crossed, nodding at all the right points. Samuel had barely absorbed a word. He'd already agreed to take over the company after graduation. It wasn't about ambition. He simply believed that if he found peace within himself, everything else would align: his future, his legacy, even love. Especially love.
The girl in the hospital was part of that fragile hope. The one who lingered in his dreams like a half-finished song. The girl who made him question whether redemption was possible, and whether he deserved it. But he also knew that being close to her came with consequences, ones he wasn't sure he had the strength to face.
He rested his elbow on the driver's side armrest, his chin against his fist, eyes never leaving the window. His body was still, but inside, everything churned. A part of him wanted to run in. Another part warned him to stay put. He listened to the latter.
Then his phone lit up.
A single beep vibrated from the center console. He glanced down. An unknown number.
He hesitated.
He never answered calls from numbers he didn't recognize. He had never needed to. People who wanted to reach him usually didn't dare.