Sacrificed for the Family

I woke up in a hospital bed.

My head felt like it was splitting open. Fever burned through my veins, my throat so dry I could barely breathe, let alone speak.

I forced my eyes open and saw white ceilings—and Adrian Holt sitting beside my bed.

“You’re awake.”

I tried to answer. No sound came out.

He poured a glass of warm water and held it to my lips. “Since you’re conscious, there are things we need to make clear.”

I swallowed with effort.

“I won’t pursue what happened this time,” he said evenly. “But you need to remember this—Fianna is a widow of the family. She’s someone we are obligated to protect. From now on, do not mistreat her.”

Mistreat.

“You endangered her life,” he continued, voice cold, official. “She nearly didn’t make it. What you did was serious. Letting you stand out in the snow was a punishment you deserved—to make you reflect on your actions and understand your mistake.”

He paused, then added in that familiar, lecturing tone:

“And more importantly, as the future Donna, you’re supposed to set an example. Discipline yourself. Control yourself. You are never to hurt Fianna again. Do you understand?”

Future Donna.

Setting an example.

The words sounded so righteous, so reasonable.

I felt nothing but exhaustion.

“Adrian,” I said hoarsely, “I’m not a Donna yet.”

He frowned.

“You seem to have forgotten,” I looked straight at him, forcing each word out, “we’re not married.”

For a moment, he was caught off guard.

“You’re stationed at the border now,” he said finally, recovering. “But you’ll be transferred back sooner or later. And we’ll get married sooner or later.”

Sooner or later.

I almost laughed—but the pain in my chest made even that impossible.

“Are you sure,” I asked quietly, “that I’ll ever be transferred back?”

He hesitated—just for a fraction of a second—then said firmly, “Of course. I’ll fight for it.”

Fight for it.

Like he had these past seven years?

Fighting so hard that my transfer slots kept going to people who mattered more?

I didn’t answer.

I was too tired. Even arguing felt pointless.

We didn’t speak again on the way back home.

—

The moment I stepped inside the house, my phone rang.

The caller ID made my fingers tighten.

“Frost?” the voice on the other end said. “Don’t forget—your flight is in three hours. I’ll have someone waiting at the airport.”

“I’ll be there,” I replied. My voice sounded steady.

But my heart was pounding.

I had to move. Now.

I turned—

Adrian was standing right behind me, eyes sharp, watching.

“Who was that?” he asked. “You looked nervous.”

“The border,” I said calmly. “My leave is over. There’s an urgent assignment. I have to return immediately.”

He relaxed. “Border command, huh. The way you reacted, I thought… you were hiding something from me.”

“What could I possibly be hiding?” I looked at him, my tone flat, almost mocking. “You know better than anyone—these seven years, my entire life has been spent out there.”

Guilt flashed across his face. He grabbed my hand.

“Next year,” he said firmly. “I promise I’ll bring you back. We’ll get married then. Just endure one more year.”

One more year.

At that moment, the guest room door opened.

Fianna walked out, carrying a small suitcase.

“Adrian, Frost—you’re back,” she said gently. “My house has been repaired. I can move back today.”

She smiled. “And Frost is returning to the border too, right? We can leave together.”

Then, softly:

“But the weather’s awful. Snowstorm, bad roads… we’re both carrying luggage.”

She looked at Adrian. “Adrian, I’m afraid I’ll need you to drive me.”

I understood immediately.

Two women.

One choice.

Adrian frowned, clearly weighing it.

My heart sank—I already knew how this would end.

“Frost,” he said at last, turning to me, “you can go to the station yourself. You’ve taken that route plenty of times.”

Then, justified and calm:

“Fianna’s just been injured. She’s not fully recovered, and the weather’s bad. I’ll take her home first.”

As if remembering something, he added, “When you’re transferred back next year, I’ll personally come pick you up.”

Next year?

Personally?

The last ripple in my heart went completely still.

No, Adrian Holt.

There won’t be a next time.

“You won’t see me again.”

I didn’t say it out loud.

I only nodded, turned, and walked toward my room.

Behind me, Adrian stared at my back. Something felt off to him—too calm, too quiet. Unease stirred, but he couldn’t name it.

“Holt,” Fianna tugged his sleeve, smiling. “Let’s go.”

He pressed down the strange feeling, picked up her suitcase.

“Alright.”

They left together.

I stood by the window, listening to the engine start, watching the jeep disappear into the endless white.

Then I picked up my own bag.

To the airport.

Where a plane was waiting.

To take me away from this city,

away from Adrian Holt,

away from every sacrifice disguised as love—

and toward a future that finally belonged to me.