Maureen stood at the far end of the hallway, her nurse's cap slightly askew, her badge hanging from someone else's identity. The uniform scratched her skin, and the smell of disinfectant made her nauseous — but none of it mattered.
Because she had heard everything.
Every word.
The room had been too full, too emotional. No one noticed the extra nurse entering quietly with a tray. No one saw her linger by the supply closet, standing just close enough to listen. They hadn't even looked twice — not when Ayla opened her eyes, not when she called her father and brother, not when she rejected Leon with silence and asked for Damien instead.
And oh, how sweet that moment had been.
Leon — so cold, so unreachable — had been waiting like a dog at her bedside. And still, she didn't say his name.
Maureen leaned back against the tiled wall now, a cruel smirk playing on her lips.
So that was it? After all that trouble, all that pretending, all the protecting… Leon didn't even get a thank you?
Good.
Let him feel what it was like — to want someone who wouldn't look twice at him.
To ache.
To be invisible.
Footsteps approached. Sharp. Angry. Familiar.
Leon.
He stormed past, jaw clenched, brows low, gaze set on nothing but the way out.
Maureen stepped out of the shadows like she'd been rehearsing it.
"Well," she said sweetly, "that was heartbreaking."
Leon stopped.
His eyes narrowed, slow and calculating. "You."
"Didn't expect to see me, did you?" she asked, tugging off the nurse's cap and tossing it into the bin nearby. "You're not the only one who knows how to snoop around."
"You've got five seconds before I report you."
"You won't," Maureen said, her voice sliding into a syrupy purr. "Because I'm the only one here who knows what it's like to be tossed aside by someone you gave everything to."
Leon's nostrils flared.
"You think you know me?"
"I think I know heartbreak when I see it," she said, stepping closer. "You waited for her. You did everything. And she still chose someone else."
Leon's jaw twitched.
"Don't talk about her."
"Why not?" Maureen asked. "She's not yours anymore. If she ever was. You're free now — or haven't you realized it yet?"
She smiled up at him.
"You could start over. With someone who actually sees you. Someone who won't forget you."
Leon stared at her, cold and unreadable.
Then he said quietly, "You'll never be her."
Maureen's smile cracked.
"And thank God for that," she hissed, mask slipping for just a moment. "Because she ruined you."
Leon took a step back, his voice steady.
"She made me better."
Then he walked away.
Maureen stood there, chest heaving, hands curled into fists — her dreams unraveling in silence.
But her eyes gleamed.
Because even if he didn't want her now… she wasn't done.
Not by a long shot.