She blended in perfectly.
White scrubs, loose surgical mask, clipboard in hand — Maureen stood near the supply cabinet by the window, her posture just off enough to be forgettable. No one questioned the nurse with tired eyes and a patient chart tucked under her arm. Not when Ayla was awake. Not when the room overflowed with more emotion than air.
And she'd been standing there long enough. Long enough to hear everything.
Ayla.
Not Celeste. Not the girl Maureen had spent years detesting.
Ayla. A stranger. A lie — but no longer one.
She watched as Leon turned his back and walked away. She didn't move. Not even when he brushed past Damien like a wounded ghost. Not even when Ayla — Ayla — asked for Damien instead.
Maureen's lips curled beneath her mask.
Rejection tastes better when it isn't mine, she thought.
Leon's face as he left — blank, cold, and quiet — that was the part that thrilled her. That look, that flicker in his eyes when she turned to someone else…
He felt it.
And Maureen felt something too — a flicker of dangerous hope.
Maybe this was her moment. Maybe, just maybe, Leon would finally see the one who had been by his side all along. The one who didn't lie, or vanish, or forget who he was. She could step in. Not out of pity — no. But because he needed someone now. Someone who didn't call another man's name while he stood right there.
She pressed further into the corner as Damien held Ayla's hand. The others were gathered near the bed, caught in their emotions.
No one noticed her.
Good, she thought. Let them keep their eyes on her.
She pulled the mask down slightly and exhaled, slow and calculating.
Because I have my eyes on him.