Rita – POV
The first thing I heard was the machine.
Slow.
Steady.
Too loud.
I knew I was in a hospital before I even opened my eyes.
My body felt heavy, my throat dry, my chest tight—as if a stone had been pressed against it. I tried to move, but my arms barely responded.
"Mum?" I whispered.
No answer.
"Dad?"
Silence.
Panic crept up my spine as I forced my eyes open. White walls. White sheets. The sharp smell of disinfectant burned my nose.
A hospital room.
Where are they?
The last thing I remembered was struggling to breathe. The itching in my throat. The fire on my skin. My mum crying in the front seat while my dad kept telling me to hold on.
Just a little longer, sweetheart. We're almost there.
I tried to sit up, but pain shot through my body and forced me back down.
The door opened.
A nurse walked in, followed by a doctor. Their expressions were serious—too serious.
"Where are my parents?" I asked immediately. My voice came out hoarse. "They brought me here."
The nurse hesitated.
My heart began to pound.
The doctor cleared his throat. "Rita… you had a severe allergic reaction. You lost consciousness on the way here."
"I know that," I snapped weakly. "Where are my parents?"
The room felt smaller. The air heavier.
"They were involved in an accident," he said carefully. "The car lost control."
My ears rang. "What do you mean… accident?"
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "They didn't make it."
For a moment, I didn't understand the words.
Then everything shattered.
"No," I whispered. A weak laugh escaped my lips. "You're lying. They were fine. My dad was driving."
"I'm sorry," he repeated.
Sorry.
That word broke something inside me.
A scream tore from my throat as my body shook uncontrollably. I clutched the bedsheets, my chest burning with every breath.
If it weren't for me…
If I wasn't allergic…
If I didn't need to go to the hospital…
They would still be alive.
That truth settled into my bones like poison.
They died because of me.
From that day on, sleep never truly came again. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw flashing headlights. I heard my mum scream my name. I heard my dad telling me to hold on.
I didn't deserve to live.
My aunt made sure I never forgot that.
"Get up, you lazy brat!"
The door flew open with a loud bang. I flinched and sat up immediately, my heart racing.
Aunty Lia stood there with her arms crossed, her eyes cold and sharp. She never knocked.
"You think you can sleep all night like a princess?" she sneered.
"I wasn't—" I began.
"Don't talk back," she snapped. "You're already late."
I glanced at the small clock beside my bed. 6:30 a.m.
My stomach twisted painfully.
"I'll get ready," I said quietly.
She laughed. "Ready for what? Another day of eating my food for free?"
I lowered my head.
Since my parents died, she had taken everything—the house, the business, even my room. And she reminded me of it every single day.
"You should be grateful I didn't throw you out," she continued calmly. "After all, if it weren't for you, your parents would still be alive."
The words sliced straight through me.
"I know," I whispered.
She smiled. Not kindly. Never kindly.
"Good," she said. "At least you're not stupid."
She turned and walked away, leaving the door wide open.
I sat there for a long moment, my hands clenched into fists.
I deserved it.
That was what I told myself every day.
Later, I went to the kitchen, hoping—just hoping—there would be something left. The fridge was almost empty. No bread. No eggs.
Just an old bottle of water.
My stomach growled as I grabbed my bag and reached for the small tin where I kept my savings—the money I had been carefully hiding to buy my allergy medication.
I opened it.
Empty.
My heart dropped.
No… no, no, no.
I searched everywhere. Under my bed. Inside my bag. Nothing.
Without that medication, one reaction could kill me.
I rushed to the living room. "Aunty Lia?"
She was sitting comfortably, watching television.
"Did you take my money?" I asked, my voice shaking.
She glanced at me lazily. "Oh, that."
"That was my savings," I said. "I need it for my medication."
She rolled her eyes. "You live in my house. You eat my food. You use my electricity."
"I don't eat—"
"Shut up," she snapped. "That money is rent."
"That was all I had," I whispered.
She shrugged. "Then work harder."
I went to work that day on an empty stomach.
Again.
The restaurant was crowded, loud with music and clinking glasses. I worked behind the bar, smiling even as my hands trembled.
By noon, my vision blurred. The room began to spin.
"Rita?" my boss called. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I lied.
The floor rushed toward me.
When I woke up, I was sitting in the staff room. My boss knelt in front of me, worry etched across his face.
"You fainted," he said gently. "Have you eaten today?"
I shook my head.
He sighed. "You can't keep doing this. Go eat. Take the rest of the day off."
He brought me food himself.
I almost cried.
Afterward, instead of going home, I went somewhere else.
I needed comfort.
I needed Charles.
His calls didn't go through. Unease settled in my chest, so I went to his place. I still had a spare key.
I opened the door and stepped inside.
Laughter drifted from the bedroom. Female laughter.
My heart skipped.
The door was slightly open.
I pushed it wider—and the world stopped.
Charles was on the bed.
And Ava was with him.
My best friend.
Their bodies tangled together.
I froze.
"What…?" My voice barely came out.
They turned. Ava screamed. Charles scrambled to cover himself.
"Rita—"
I stepped back, my legs shaking.
Of all people… it had to be them.
Tears blurred my vision as my knees buckled.
In that moment, one terrifying truth became clear.
I had no parents.
No home.
No medication.
And now… no one left to trust.