She Found Freedom, Not His Love

Eda Roman POV: I stared at the forty-eight-hour preliminary review notice on the screen. A loud, high-pitched ringing exploded in my brain, drowning out the ambient noise of the hospital. Forty-eight hours. For an acute leukemia mutation, forty-eight hours was enough time for the cancer cells to entirely consume my father's internal organs. I jabbed my thumb against the expedite button on the screen. I hit it over and over, my nail clicking frantically against the glass. The system remained completely unresponsive. Panic seized my chest. I opened the live customer service chat within the app. My fingers were slick with cold sweat, slipping over the digital keyboard as I typed. I sent a frantic message. I begged them to expedite the review, typing out that my father was on the verge of organ failure and could not wait two days. The chat window showed three little dots. The agent was typing. I held my breath, my eyes boring into the screen as if sheer willpower could force a favorable answer. A message popped up. It was a cold, automated block of corporate text telling me to wait patiently in the queue. They flatly denied the expedite request. I looked at the agent ID number at the top of the chat. My stomach dropped, and then a hot flash of pure rage ignited in my veins. It was Sarah. Keri's direct assistant. The anger instantly burned through my terror. I didn't type back. I bypassed the chat and directly dialed the trust's emergency hotline number listed at the bottom of the app. The phone rang for a long time. The dial tone echoed in my ear, pulling my nerves tighter and tighter. Finally, the line clicked open. Sarah's lazy, drawn-out voice floated through the speaker. I lowered my voice, forcing the tremor out of my vocal cords. I demanded that she push the medical funds through immediately. Sarah chuckled. A soft, mocking sound. I heard the rustling of papers in the background. She was intentionally stalling, letting the silence stretch to torture me. She put on her professional voice. She cited trust compliance regulations, stating that any expenditure over ten thousand dollars required a mandatory secondary review by Director Keri Lane. I gripped the phone tighter. I told her this was a matter of life and death. My voice cracked and pitched upward, slipping out of my control. A family walking past me in the corridor stopped and stared. Their eyes were full of judgment. I turned my back to them, pressing my forehead against the cold plaster wall to cage my rising hysteria. Sarah's tone shifted from professional to overtly arrogant. She casually mentioned that I had used illness as an excuse to buy designer bags in the past. It was a lie. It was the exact frame job Keri had orchestrated two years ago to destroy my credibility within the family trust. Bile rose in the back of my throat. I opened my mouth to scream at her, to defend myself, but a sharp click echoed in my ear. She had hung up. The dial tone hummed against my cheek. The veins on the back of my hand bulged against the pale skin. I pulled the phone away and hit redial. A computerized voice immediately informed me that my number had been temporarily restricted by the customer service system. The humiliation was a physical weight crushing my lungs. I leaned heavily against the wall, opening my mouth to drag in ragged, shallow breaths. The door to my father's room suddenly clicked open. An orderly stepped out, holding a clipboard. He looked at me and said my father was awake. I shoved the phone deep into my coat pocket. I raised both hands and violently rubbed my cheeks, trying to force the blood back into my face. I stretched my lips into a stiff, ugly smile. I pushed the heavy door open. My father was lying in the center of the bed, a network of plastic tubes snaking out of his frail arms. He looked so small. The rims of my eyes burned instantly. He turned his head on the pillow. His voice was barely a whisper, thin and reedy. He asked me if the medical bills were very expensive. His sunken eyes were brimming with heavy guilt. I swallowed the lump of glass in my throat. I forced a bright tone and lied straight to his face. I told him Axel had already arranged for the top specialists in the state, and the Foley Group was covering every single cent. My father's tense shoulders relaxed. A look of profound relief washed over his face, and he closed his eyes, drifting back into a drug-induced sleep. I backed out of the room. The moment the door clicked shut, my fake armor shattered into dust. I realized with absolute clarity that I could not leave my father's life in Keri's hands. I had to bypass her entirely. I opened my phone contacts. I scrolled down to the number I hadn't dialed in a full month. The contact name was saved as Husband. But looking at the word, it felt alien, like a title belonging to a stranger. I took a massive breath, filling my lungs until they ached. I pressed the call button and pressed the freezing metal against my ear. "Pick up, Axel. Please pick up."