NADIA'S POV
The hospital smells like disinfectant and sadness. I hate hospitals. They remind me of Dad's final days, watching him fade while Mom pretended everything was fine.
"I'm looking for Rose Chen," I tell the nurse at reception. "I'm her granddaughter."
"Room 302. Third floor."
I take the stairs, needing the movement. My hand throbs where I cut it, blood seeping through the tissue I wrapped around it.
Grandma Rose is awake when I enter, looking small in the hospital bed. But her eyes are sharp as ever.
"My little bird," she says, using my childhood nickname. "You look terrible."
"Thanks, Grandma. You're in a hospital bed and I look terrible?"
She waves her hand dismissively. "Just a little heart episode. Nothing dramatic. But you, you've been crying."
I sit beside her bed. "Jeff and I divorced today."
"Good."
I blink. "Good?"
"That man was sucking the life out of you. I watched you disappear bit by bit. The Nadia who used to paint, who laughed too loud, who wore yellow because it made her happy - where did she go?"
Tears blur my vision. "I don't know."
"Well, now you can find her again." She takes my injured hand, frowning at the blood. "What happened?"
"I threw a vase. Scarlett sent flowers."
"That woman has no class." Grandma presses the call button. "Nurse! My granddaughter needs medical attention."
"Grandma, I'm fine"
"You're bleeding all over my hospital room. That's not fine."
A nurse comes in and insists on properly cleaning and bandaging my hand. Three stitches later, I'm back at Grandma's bedside.
"The doctor says you need surgery," I say, reading her chart.
"Minor procedure. I'll be fine." She studies me. "But what about you? Where will you go?"
"What do you mean?"
"You can't stay in that penthouse. Too many ghosts."
She's right. Every corner holds a memory of Jeff.
"I have the beach house," she continues. "In Monterey. You should go there."
"I can't leave. You need surgery"
"Which isn't for three days. Go to the beach house. Clear your head. Come back for my surgery."
"Grandma…"
"Nadia Chen Morrison, you've spent five years taking care of everyone else. Take care of yourself for once."
Before I can argue, my phone rings. Jeff's mother.
"I should take this," I say.
"Put it on speaker. Patricia needs to know I'm listening."
I answer on speaker. "Hello, Patricia."
"Nadia, darling. This whole divorce business is ridiculous. You and Jeffrey belong together."
"We're already divorced, Patricia."
"It can be undone. I've seen the security footage from his office, dear. That woman threw herself at him. Jeffrey is weak, but he loves you."
I close my eyes. "Patricia"
"I know about the baby situation. I know you've been trying. Don't let one mistake ruin your future family."
The baby situation. Three miscarriages Patricia doesn't know about. Jeff holding my hand through each one, promising we'd keep trying. Then finding him with Scarlett two weeks after the last one.
"There is no baby situation anymore," I say quietly.
"Don't be dramatic. Come to lunch tomorrow. We'll discuss this properly."
"No."
Silence. Patricia Porter doesn't hear 'no' often.
"Excuse me?"
"I said no. Jeff and I are done. I'm not coming to lunch. I'm not discussing anything. It's over."
"You're making a mistake. You'll never find another man like Jeffrey."
"That's the point."
I hang up.
Grandma claps. "Finally! The real Nadia shows up."
My phone immediately rings again. This time it's my boss. Former boss.
"Don't answer that," Grandma says. "Whatever it is can wait."
But I answer anyway. "Hello, Richard."
"Nadia! I heard about you and Jeff. Listen, we want you back. The position is still open. Actually, we've improved the offer. Senior Creative Director, twenty percent raise."
Six months ago, I would have jumped at this. Now...
"I'll think about it," I say.
"Don't think too long. We need an answer by Monday."
I hang up and find Grandma smiling.
"What?"
"You didn't say yes immediately. That's progress." She squeezes my hand. "Go to the beach house. Paint something. Remember who you were before you became Mrs. Jeffrey Porter."
"I don't even have my art supplies anymore. I threw them out."
"Then buy new ones. Start fresh." She pulls a key from her purse. "The house is stocked with food. Stay as long as you need."
"What about your surgery?"
"My neighbor Linda will be with me. You come back when you're ready, not before."
I take the key. It feels heavier than it should, like it's the key to more than just a house.
"Nadia," Grandma says as I'm leaving. "That girl who painted sunsets and danced in the rain? She's still in there. Stop letting people convince you she's not enough."
I drive home in silence. The penthouse feels different now, like it belongs to someone else. I pack a bag, throwing in jeans and t-shirts instead of the designer dresses Jeff preferred.
In the closet, I find a box shoved in the back. My old art supplies. I lied to Grandma - I couldn't throw them away. Just hid them, like I hid everything else Jeff didn't approve of.
I put the box in my car.
As I'm leaving, I see our wedding photo on the mantle. We look so happy. So sure.
I turn it face down and walk out.
The drive to Monterey takes three hours. I play music Jeff hated - loud, angry, real. I sing along, my voice cracking from disuse.
The beach house is exactly as I remember. Small, cozy, nothing like the penthouse. It smells like salt and memories of summers before I knew Jeff existed.
I drop my bags and walk straight to the beach. The sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange.
I take out my phone to photograph it, then stop. Jeff always complained when I took too many sunset photos.
"Why do you need another picture of the sky?" he'd say. "They all look the same."
But they don't. Each one is unique. Each one is beautiful in its own way.
Like people, I think. Like me.
I put my phone away and just watch. For the first time in years, I don't document the moment. I just live it.
When I get back to the house, there's a car in the driveway. A familiar Mercedes.
My heart sinks. Jeff found me.
But when the door opens, it's not Jeff.
It's his brother, Marcus.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
Marcus looks uncomfortable. "Jeff doesn't know I'm here."
"Then why are you?"
"Because I owe you an apology. And the truth."
I cross my arms. "About?"
"About Scarlett. About Jeff. About everything."
The last thing I want is more drama. But the look on Marcus's face stops me from sending him away.
"You have five minutes," I say.
"Scarlett isn't Jeff's first affair, Nadia. She's just the first one you found out about."
The world tilts. I grab the doorframe for support.
"What?"