"He wants you in," James informed her.
She hesitated for a moment before letting her feet take her forward. Each step toward the hospital ward felt heavier than the last. Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile onto her lips, masking the anxiety that threatened to creep in. As soon as she stepped inside, his eyes met hers, filled with warmth despite his obvious exhaustion.
"You don't look good," she said softly, lowering herself onto the edge of his hospital bed.
"You almost got me killed, do you know that?" she grumbled, folding her arms. She might not have been the one lying in the hospital bed, but she felt his pain as if it were her own.
Dave let out a low chuckle, reaching up to caress her cheek. "I'm the one who got hurt, but you're the one complaining?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "This isn't funny. You—"
"I wouldn't have died," he interrupted gently, offering a faint smile. "It was just a minor effect."
June exhaled sharply, lowering her head before placing her hand over his. She lifted it to her face, holding it there, letting his warmth seep into her skin. They didn't need words in that moment. Their eyes said everything.
"Alright, that's enough, you two. Time for the mother to get some love," Mrs. Deen's voice cut in, breaking their quiet moment.
June sighed and leaned back as Dave's mother strode into the room. Her gaze swept over her son, a mixture of relief and disbelief flickering in her eyes. Dave had never been one to involve himself in violence or reckless behavior. He had always been calm, easygoing, indifferent to the chaos of the outside world. And yet, here he was—wounded, in a hospital bed, all because of June.
For years, she had secretly wished her son would be more assertive, more engaged with the world around him. But she never expected it to happen like this. She had underestimated just how deeply he loved June.
"You know, June, this is the first time I've ever heard of my son getting into a fight," Mrs. Deen remarked, shooting her son a knowing look.
Dave's eyes widened slightly, silently pleading with his mother not to reveal too much.
June turned to him, intrigued. "Really?" she asked, tilting her head as she reached up to pinch his chin. "So, I'm the first girl you've ever fought for?"
He groaned, closing his eyes in defeat, while June grinned. The thought filled her with a quiet sort of happiness—knowing that he had put himself in danger for her, that she mattered that much to him. She knew he valued her just as much as she valued him.
A sudden throat clearing broke the moment.
June's mother stepped forward, her sharp gaze settling on Dave. Her presence alone sent a wave of tension through the room. Dave straightened slightly, his heartbeat accelerating. From everything he had heard about June's mother, she was a difficult woman to please—stern, opinionated, and fiercely protective of her daughter.
He swallowed as she crossed her arms. "What's your relationship with my daughter?"
June blinked, slightly taken aback. The question seemed unnecessary—her mother had been there the entire time, had heard everything, had seen June's hands on him.
"He's my boyfriend," June answered quickly, trying to shut the conversation down before it could escalate.
Her mother's sharp gaze cut to her. "I asked him, not you."
June let out an exasperated sigh as Dave shifted uncomfortably under the older woman's scrutiny.
"She's my girlfriend," he confirmed, attempting to sit up, but June pressed her hand against his chest, urging him to stay still.
Her mother scoffed. "Girlfriend?" She shook her head. "Aren't you past that stage? She's twenty-four, and you're probably in your thirties."
June's jaw clenched. "Mom, can you not—"
"Not say the truth?" her mother interrupted, her tone sharp. "He's far older, and he needs to be aware of that."
Before June could snap back, Mrs. Deen stepped in, her voice calm but firm.
"Is he really that old?" she asked pointedly. "Because I don't see the problem."
She hadn't planned to interfere, but this was crossing a line. The way she saw it, the age gap wasn't an issue—it was her son's choice, and that was enough for her.
"He's responsible, he's loyal, and most importantly, they love each other," Mrs. Deen continued. "My son is, in every way, perfect for your daughter."
June's mother scoffed. "I don't care how responsible or loyal he is. This is about my daughter's future, and I have to be sure he's the right one."
June's patience snapped. "This is my decision to make, Mom. I love him, and I don't care about the age gap."
Her mother's lips pressed into a thin line. "And isn't there an even bigger age gap between you and Dad?" June added, her voice laced with defiance.
Her mother's expression darkened. "And you saw how that ended," she shot back, voice rising. "He left me for a woman closer to his age. It was just a moment of pleasure, and I won't let you go through the same thing."
June exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "That was your experience. This is mine. And Dave isn't my father. He loves me. I know he'll never hurt me."
Her mother opened her mouth to argue, but June held her ground, eyes locked onto hers, unwavering.
Mrs. Deen placed a gentle hand on her son's shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze. "Sometimes, we have to trust our children to make their own choices," she said softly, but there was a warning beneath her words.
June's mother exhaled through her nose, clearly displeased, but she said nothing more. The room settled into tense silence.
For now, the conversation was over. But June knew this was only the beginning.
….
Thomas rushed into the hospital, his pulse hammering in his ears. When Lizzy called him, her voice urgent, he had assumed the worst—an accident, an illness, something serious enough to require a close one by her side. He hadn't even hesitated before dropping everything and coming here.
But the moment he entered the room, Lizzy turned to him with a radiant smile, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. Then, without warning, she threw her arms around him.
"I'm pregnant," she announced, her voice filled with something close to triumph.
Thomas stiffened. His hands barely touched her arms before he gently pushed her away, holding her at arm's length. His face remained neutral, unreadable, as if he hadn't fully processed her words.
"You're pregnant, but…?" The question hung between them, unfinished.
Lizzy's smile faltered. "You're not happy?" Her voice turned cold, laced with sharp edges. Her gaze searched his, but all she found was hesitation.
She had thought this would be the moment everything changed between them—that the weight of their past mistakes would be erased, that the bad blood would dissolve. Babies were supposed to be bridges, weren't they? They sealed bonds, brought people closer. Yet, he stood there, as still and silent as a toad with no croak.
"I'm just… surprised," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His head lowered, as if the ground held answers he couldn't find. "I didn't plan for this."
Lizzy let out a sharp laugh, disbelief flashing in her eyes. "You didn't plan for this? And you think I did?" Her voice rose, her frustration bubbling over. "Well, it doesn't matter now, does it? It's happening. We don't have a choice but to take responsibility."
Her patience was wearing thin. The nerve of him, to say such words after everything. She had forgiven him, returned to him, given him another chance despite everything he had done. And now this?
Before Thomas could respond, a small voice cut through the tension.
"Dad, what's taking you so long?"
His daughter, Beth, stood by the door, her curious eyes darting between him and Lizzy. She hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward.
"Dad, what's wrong?" she asked, her little fingers curling around his hand. "We're going to be late for the family picnic."
Lizzy's breath hitched. A picnic. That was why he looked so reluctant. That was why there was no trace of joy on his lips. He had a life, a perfect, neat little life with his ex-wife and daughter while she had been away for just two months.
Two months.
That was all it had taken for him to move on?
Yes, she had said goodbye. But he had pushed her away first.
Not this time. There would be no more goodbyes. No more family picnics with another woman and another child. This time, it was her family.
Lizzy's lips curled into a smile as she reached for Thomas's arm, prying him away from Beth's grasp. "Sorry, sweetheart," she said sweetly, her grip tightening. "But your dad won't be able to make it to that picnic."
Beth frowned, gripping her father's other arm in defiance. "Why not? He has to. Mom's waiting for us."
Lizzy tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with something almost predatory. "Because, honey, you're going to have a little brother soon. Someone to carry the family name."
Her fingers brushed over her stomach as she spoke, a deliberate move to draw Beth's attention.
Beth's gaze dropped to her stomach, her eyes widening. Lizzy smirked as the girl's face twisted in confusion, then disbelief, then something closer to anger.
Ah, the sweet scent of revenge.
Honestly, Lizzy hadn't wanted to be the villain in their story. But life had given her no choice. After everything she had been through, after how easily she had been discarded, she felt no guilt. Not for this. Not for anything.
She had been too kind once. And where had that gotten her?
She had lost her job because of her kindness. Yet, in the end, it hadn't mattered. One little video of that so-called "young talent" in a compromising position with the director had been enough to turn the tables. She had her job back now.
Next was her man.
And nothing, not his daughter, not his ex-wife, not their pathetic little family traditions, was going to stop her from getting what she wanted.
Beth turned to Thomas, her small hands balling into fists. "Dad," she said, her voice trembling. "Tell me she's lying."
She wasn't just asking. She was begging.
She had spent weeks believing her parents were getting closer. Every meal shared, every small, unspoken moment between them, it had all felt like a promise. Her mother had even started cooking again, and though her food was barely edible, her father ate it without complaint. He never said a word about the undercooked rice, the lack of salt.
Because he had wanted to make it work.
Hadn't he?
This, this, would ruin everything.
Thomas's silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
Lizzy's smile widened. "What can he say, darling?" she purred. "He's too overjoyed to speak."
She let her hand rest protectively over her stomach, her voice laced with mock sympathy as she added, "After all, this is the child he's always wanted. A son. A prince to carry his name, not a princess."
Beth's face crumbled, her hands shaking as she looked at her father.
And still, Thomas said nothing.
Lizzy relished the moment.
This was only the beginning.
….
"Are you sure I can stay here?" Samantha asked, her voice tinged with hesitation.
The night had stretched too far, and with everything going on, June refused to let her stay alone. It wasn't safe—not with the problems lurking around them.
"Of course," June said, offering a reassuring smile as she handed Samantha an extra nightgown. "You're always welcome here."
They weren't too different in size, though June had a slight edge in height. The fabric settled neatly on Samantha's frame, and with an appreciative nod, she disappeared into the bathroom to change.
While Samantha was occupied, June made her way to Dora's room. She had noticed her friend's heavy mood all day but hadn't had the chance to check in. Now, with things momentarily calm, she needed to.
The moment she stepped inside, her chest tightened. Dora lay curled on the bed, her face buried in her pillow, muffling the quiet sobs shaking her shoulders.
June sat beside her, close enough for Dora to feel her presence, but she didn't say anything right away. Instead, she simply reached for her, wrapping her arms around her trembling body, offering warmth against the cold ache of heartbreak.
Dora lifted her head, her tear-streaked face pressing into June's shoulder. "He lied to me," she whispered brokenly. "I was just…"
Her words trailed off into a sob.
June sighed, gently stroking her back. "It's okay. Just let it out."
But inside, she wrestled with a dilemma. Should she tell Dora she had known the truth? Would it make things worse?
No. Some truths were best left unspoken. And in her defense, she had only found out shortly before Dora did.
Dora pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes. "He lied… That makes him a bad man, right?" Her voice wavered. "I mean, he didn't help you become a better writer, or give you great ideas, or, oh, wait. He did. And the company that signed your book? That was his doing too. But yeah, he should have totally sabotaged your career instead of helping you reach the top."
June recognized the sarcasm immediately. Dora was guilty-tripping herself, trying to balance her anger with the reality of what he had done for her.
"Are you on his side?" Dora mumbled, narrowing her swollen eyes at her.
"I'm not on anyone's side," June said softly. "I'm just pointing out the facts. He could have forced you into that marriage, but he didn't. Instead, he made sure you fell in love with him first. And he didn't just love you, he made sure your dreams became a reality." She paused before adding, "Everything he did was for you, Dora. And from where I'm standing, that doesn't seem so bad."
Dora exhaled shakily, her mind racing. Why hadn't she seen it that way before? Maybe because her heart had been too clouded with anger to recognize it.
June gently tucked her under the blankets, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Sleep on it," she murmured. "Tomorrow, you'll know what to do."
She dimmed the lights and stepped out, only to nearly collide with Jane.
"Sorry," Jane muttered dully, dragging her feet toward the kitchen.
June watched as she pulled open the fridge, grabbing a snack box with a little too much force.
Late-night snacking. A clear sign she was stressed.
June smirked, grabbing a handful of chips straight from Jane's hand and popping them into her mouth. "Can I join in?"
Jane rolled her eyes but slid onto the stool beside her with a sigh. "I just don't know what to do," she admitted, slumping forward. "I know he's changed, but I just can't bring myself to let it go."
June chewed thoughtfully. "Let go of what?"
Jane hesitated. "The fact that he used to date older women."
June barely suppressed a laugh. "That's what's bothering you?"
Jane shot her a glare before sighing again, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the counter. "What if he goes back to his old ways? What if he hasn't really changed?"
"Jane." June turned to face her fully. "Everyone has a past. The question is, has he grown past it? And from what I see, he has. That shouldn't bother you."
Jane clenched her jaw. "I know… but I'm scared. What if I forgive him and he proves me wrong?"
"Then at least you took the chance," June said simply. "If we keep worrying about the future, we'll stop living. The future is meant to be a surprise. That's what makes life interesting."
She wrapped an arm around Jane's shoulders, squeezing lightly. "Ask yourself one thing, do you love him? If the answer is yes, then decide."
Before Jane could respond, June snatched the snack box and grinned. "Good night."
She left Jane in deep thought and headed back to her room.
Inside, Samantha was already in the nightgown, twirling slightly as she admired the fit. "I never thought sharing clothes with someone would feel this nice," she said with a grin.
June chuckled. "It looks good on you. Want some snacks?"
Samantha plopped onto the bed, reaching for the packet. "How are your friends? I noticed their moods weren't the best."
June climbed in beside her, wrapping her hair for the night. "They'll be fine by morning."
Samantha hesitated before asking, "How was it… living with your mom?"
June blinked, caught off guard by the question. Samantha rarely spoke about her mother, and now that she had, June found herself unexpectedly curious.
Samantha's face softened. "It was nice. She was the best."
A warmth filled her voice as she reminisced. "She used to cry every time I got hurt and kissed me to make the pain go away. And her mashed potatoes?" She smiled wistfully. "The best."
Then, she noticed June's expression.
The light in her sister's eyes had dimmed, her smile now faint. Of course.
Samantha had grown up surrounded by love. June had grown up craving it.
Guilt flickered across Samantha's face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to"
"It's okay." June cut her off with a small grin. "I'm not offended. I just envy your childhood a little."
She leaned back against the pillows. "Most of what I had were maids that changed as often as my clothes. But hey, at least it taught me to be independent."
Before Samantha could respond, June poked her side.
"Ow!"
June smirked. "You're way too sentimental. Lighten up."
Samantha grabbed a pillow and smacked her with it. "Oh, you're on."
A full-blown pillow fight broke out, their laughter echoing through the room. Dodging and striking, their faces flushed with amusement, the weight of the night's troubles momentarily forgotten.
Eventually, exhaustion took over, and they collapsed onto the bed, breathless, tangled in sheets and soft giggles.
The night faded with whispered conversations until sleep finally claimed them.
….
"I want to propose to June," Dave said.
The room froze.
June's mother gasped audibly, her eyes widening in shock, while James nearly choked on his drink. But it was the steely presence of June's mother who had just walked in at that very moment, that sent a thick wave of tension through the air.
She halted mid-step, her sharp gaze locking onto Dave like a predator assessing its prey.
"You what?" she asked, her tone cold enough to drop the room's temperature.