Those words felt like warmth I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“But Julian—” I started.

“He’s overwhelmed,” she said gently. “Confused. But he loves you. And this wedding will still happen. I’ll make sure of it.”

I wanted to tell her everything. About Julian. About Kieran. About Mira. About all of it. But I stopped myself.

Not yet. Not like this.

So I just nodded. “Okay, Grandma.”

She smiled faintly, relieved. “That’s my girl.”

I lowered my voice. “I’m sorry…”

After she left, I lay still in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling.

For the first time in weeks, the noise in my head quieted.

I’d been surviving for so long that I forgot I still had a choice.

And I did.

**

Over the next two days, I moved carefully, quietly.

I requested my full medical records—the ones showing the wrong prescriptions Julian had been giving me. The ones that made it clear someone had been slowly harming me.

Then I checked my bank accounts. Small withdrawals, repeated over time. Julian had been transferring money from our joint account—money Grandma set aside for us—into an account under Mira’s name.

I kept digging.

Photos. Hotel bookings. Messages. Julian and Mira together, listed openly as companions under his name.

And then I found something worse.

An old email thread between Julian and Kieran. Their plan wasn’t accidental—it was calculated. I was never chosen. I was used, because Grandma trusted me more than them.

My hands shook as I read each line. It all confirmed what I had been trying not to believe.

I wasn’t part of their lives.

I was part of their arrangement.

Even the pregnancy test, the miscarriage report, my mother’s death certificate—I kept them all together. Proof of everything that had been ignored, dismissed, or twisted.

And still, none of it mattered to them.

**

On the third day, I made a call.

“Professor Park?” My voice came out calm, almost too calm.

“Aria!” His voice brightened immediately. “It’s been a while. How are you doing?”

“I’m calling about the volunteer program,” I said. “The medical mission in Africa. Is there still a spot available?”

There was a short pause. “Actually… yes. We just lost someone, so there’s an opening. But Aria, it’s a two-year commitment minimum. Are you sure—”

“I’m sure,” I cut in gently but firmly. “I want to leave. As soon as possible.”