Too Late, Mr. Mills: Watch Me Leave

The smell hit her first. That sharp, sterile sting of alcohol and industrial cleaner that crawled into your nose and stayed there. Adriana blinked, the harsh fluorescent lights burning her retinas. A white ceiling tiles stared back down at her.

She tried to move, but a sharp, pulling sensation stopped her. She looked down. An IV needle was taped to the back of her hand, clear fluid dripping down the tube and into her veins.

Hospital. She was in a hospital.

And then the memory hit her like a freight train. The woods. The cold. Pippa.

Adriana gasped, her back arching off the mattress as she tried to sit up. She had to get out. She had to-

"Guzman Ms. Guzman, please!" A nurse rushed to the bed, pressing a firm hand against her shoulder. "You need to stay calm. You've been unconscious for two days."

Two days. The words echoed in her skull. Two days since her world ended.

"Where is she?" Adriana rasped, her throat feeling like sandpaper. "Where is my daughter?"

The nurse's face softened into that practiced look of pity. "Please, just rest. Your friend is here."

The door banged open, and Janna Glenn flew into the room. Her red hair was a mess, her eyes swollen and rimmed in red, but she was alive. She was solid and real.

"Adriana!" Janna grabbed her hand, squeezing so hard her knuckles turned white. "Oh my god, you're awake."

The touch broke something inside her. The tears came silently, sliding down her cheeks, hot and fast. She squeezed Janna's hand back, anchoring herself to the only person left who cared.

"I found her," Adriana whispered, her voice hollow. "I held her, Janna. She was so cold."

Janna climbed onto the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms around Adriana's shoulders, holding her tight. "I know. I know, sweetie. I'm so sorry."

They stayed like that for a long time, until the door swung open again.

This time, the entrance wasn't frantic. It was deliberate. A tall silhouette stepped into the room, blocking the light from the hallway. Everette Mills.

He looked like a man who had been pulled through time against his will. His expensive suit was deeply creased, his tie loosened as if he'd been fighting it for air. His eyes were shot with red, a stark contrast to the forced composure of his posture. He looked tired, but it was an annoyed kind of tired, like a CEO delayed by traffic.

Adriana's chest seized up. Her lungs refused to work. The sight of him standing there, whole and perfect, while Pippa was in a morgue drawer, was an obscenity.

But it wasn't just him.

A head peeked out from behind his broad shoulder. Becky Clay. She was wearing a simple white sundress, her blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She looked the picture of innocence, her blue eyes wide with concern.

"Adriana," Becky said softly, her voice trembling slightly. "Are you okay? Everette flew back as soon as he heard. We were so worried."

We. The word was a serrated knife twisting in her gut.

Adriana stared at the woman who had been whispering in her husband's ear, the woman who had been the shadow destroying her marriage. And now she was standing at his side, playing the saint.

A laugh bubbled up in Adriana's throat. It was a harsh, grating sound, completely devoid of humor. It scraped against the quiet room.

Everette frowned, his lip curling in distaste. "What is this now? Another performance?"

Adriana stopped laughing. The humor vanished, leaving only a void. She looked at him, her eyes dead. "My daughter is dead. And you brought your mistress to her funeral?"

Becky gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Tears instantly welled in her eyes. She shrank back, stepping behind Everette, using him as a shield. "I'm not... I would never... I was just worried about you."

Everette's face hardened. He shifted his body, physically shielding Becky from Adriana's gaze. "Don't project your paranoia onto her. She's here because I asked her to be. Stop dragging innocent people into your delusions."

It was the final nail. He wasn't just indifferent; he was actively protecting the other woman. He thought she was crazy. He thought her grief was an act.

Adriana looked down at her hand. The IV needle was still there, pumping fluids into her body, keeping her alive. A body that didn't want to live.

She grabbed the needle and yanked.

"Hey!" the nurse shouted.

Blood spurted from the vein, a bright, vivid red against her pale skin. It dripped onto the white sheets, blooming like a flower. But Adriana didn't feel the sting. She felt nothing at all.

She threw her legs over the side of the bed. The room spun, black spots dancing in her vision, but she forced herself to stand. Her knees buckled instantly.

Everette moved. He stepped forward, his hand shooting out to grab her arm. But his grip wasn't gentle. It was hard, controlling, forcing her to stay still.

"Don't touch me!" Adriana shrieked, trying to wrench her arm away.

Janna was on her feet in a second, stepping between them. She shoved Everette's shoulder, her face contorted with rage. "Get your hands off her! Haven't you done enough? What, did you come here to finish the job?"

Everette glared at Janna, his jaw clenched. "This is between me and my wife."

"She's not your wife!" Janna yelled back. "She's a person! A person who just lost her child!"

Adriana stood there, swaying slightly, watching the two people fight over her. Janna, fierce and protective. Everette, cold and domineering. And Becky, peeking out from behind him, her face a carefully constructed mask of concern that didn't quite reach her eyes.

It was all a nightmare. And she couldn't wake up.