Logically, I should’ve felt relief. I had already planned to end the pregnancy anyway. But there was nothing like that. Only emptiness. Like something inside me had been quietly erased.
“There’s someone here to see you,” the nurse said softly.
Before I could respond, the door opened.
Julian walked in.
His face was unreadable as he stopped near the foot of my bed, hands tucked into his pockets, studying me like I was something inconvenient he had to deal with.
“You’re awake,” he said flatly.
I didn’t answer.
He let out a small breath, running a hand through his hair. “Grandma’s stable. No serious damage. The doctors said it was just a reaction to her medication.”
Still, I stayed silent.
“Aria.” His tone sharpened. “I need you to do something. For Grandma. For us.”
I finally looked at him. “What is it?”
“Apologize,” he said without hesitation. “To Mira. To Grandma. For everything that happened.”
A laugh slipped out of me, broken and sharp. “Apologize?”
“Yes.” He stepped closer. “Grandma still wants the wedding. She still believes in you… for reasons I honestly don’t understand.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “So you’re going to say sorry to Mira for how you acted. You’re going to apologize to Grandma for the stress you caused. And you’re going to fix yourself.”
Every word felt like pressure on an open wound.
“And if I refuse?” I asked quietly.
His lips curved faintly. Not warmth—something colder. “Then you lose everything. The wedding. The support. The life you’ve been holding onto.”
I stared at him for a long moment, at the man who no longer felt like the person I once knew.
“Okay,” I said at last.
He blinked, clearly not expecting it. “Okay?”
“I’ll apologize,” I repeated evenly. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
Something passed through his expression—relief, maybe satisfaction. Then he turned and left without another word.
**
Later that day, Grandma Rosemarie came in.
She moved slowly with her cane, her face pale but full of concern. The moment she saw me, her eyes softened with tears.
“Oh, my dear Aria…” she said, sitting carefully beside me and taking my hand. “I’m so sorry you’ve gone through all this.”
That gentleness broke whatever was left in me. Tears slipped down my face before I could stop them.
“I didn’t hurt you, Grandma,” I said shakily. “I swear I would never—”
“I know,” she interrupted softly, squeezing my hand. “I know you wouldn’t. You saved my life once. I trust you.”