Mia's POVThe hospital corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, its polished floors reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights. I watched as they wheeled Mom through the double doors marked "Authorized Personnel Only," her small form dwarfed by the hospital bed. My fingers pressed against the cold glass of the observation window until she disappeared from view."Mrs. Branson?" A gentle touch on my arm made me turn. The nurse—her name tag read "Emma"—smiled warmly. "Why don't we get you settled in the waiting area? It's going to be a long surgery."I let her guide me to a private waiting room, noticing absently that it was far more luxurious than the standard hospital spaces. Plush chairs, soft lighting."Can I get you anything?" Emma asked. "Some hot chocolate perhaps? Or juice?""No, thank you." My voice sounded distant, even to my own ears.She frowned slightly. "You should try to eat something. Dr. Pierce mentioned you might skip breakfast. Let me at least bring you some tea."Before I c
Mia's POVConsciousness returned slowly, like swimming up through deep water. The first thing I noticed was the steady beeping of monitors—not my own, I realized, but from the bed next to mine."What happened?" I asked, my voice rough from sleep.A nurse appeared at my side, adjusting something on the monitor. "You fainted, dear. The stress and exhaustion finally caught up with you."I pushed myself up carefully, my head spinning slightly. "How long was I out?""Just a couple of hours." She helped arrange my pillows. "Dr. Pierce said it was pure exhaustion. When was the last time you ate anything?"I tried to remember but couldn't. The nurse clicked her tongue disapprovingly."That's what I thought. You need to rest and eat something substantial." She checked my vitals with efficient movements. "Your mother's doing very well, by the way. The surgery was completely successful."At the mention of Mom, I turned to study her in the next bed. She lay peaceful in the post-surgical quiet, he
**Mia's POV**The hospital corridors had become familiar territory over the past four days. Every morning, I'd arrive just as the sun began to paint the city skyline in shades of gold and pink. The nurses on the early shift knew me by name now, greeting me with gentle smiles as I made my way to Mom's room.Today was no different. Emma, the head nurse, looked up from her station with a warm smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Branson. Your mother had a peaceful night.""Any changes?" I asked, the question as automatic as breathing by now."All her indicators are holding steady." Emma's smile widened slightly. "Dr. Pierce just went in to check on her, actually."I found Nate standing by Mom's bed, studying her charts with intense concentration. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his usually immaculate appearance showed subtle signs of wear - his sleeves rolled up carelessly, his collar slightly askew."Nate?" He looked up, his professional mask softening into a genuine smile. "Mia. I was hopin
**Mia's POV**My laptop screen glowed softly in the fading afternoon light as I opened the group chat. Three faces appeared in their respective windows – Scarlett's fiery red hair unmistakable even in the small frame, Jeo's familiar warm smile, and my own tired reflection staring back at me."There she is!" Scarlett's voice crackled through my speakers. "Our brilliant architect finally graces us with her presence.""Sorry I'm late," I said, adjusting my screen. "I was reviewing the latest site surveys.""Speaking of which," Jeo held up a stack of papers, "I have some thoughts about the therapeutic garden layouts. The integration with existing vegetation is inspired, Mia, but have you considered adding a butterfly garden? The kids would love it.""That's... actually brilliant." I reached for my sketchpad, already visualizing the possibilities. "We could create a dedicated space near the sensory garden, using native plants to attract local species.""And," Scarlett chimed in, "I've been
**Kyle's POV**I heard the crash of breaking glass followed by Mia's cry, sharp with fear. Something in her voice made my blood run cold. Not her usual quiet distress, but raw panic.My feet were moving before conscious thought kicked in. Taking the stairs two at a time, I reached her room just as another cry echoed through the darkness."Help! Somebody help!"The sight that greeted me stopped my heart. Mia was on the floor, surrounded by glittering shards of what must have been the crystal vase from her nightstand. Blood seeped from her foot where she'd stepped on broken glass, but it was her face that caught me—the unfocused eyes, the desperate way her hands reached out into empty air."Mia?" I moved carefully through the glass. "What happened?""I can't—" Her voice broke, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I can't see. I can't see...anything."In twenty years of running K.T. Enterprises, through mergers and crises and billion-dollar deals, I'd never felt anything like this primal fea
Mia's POVConsciousness returned slowly, like swimming up through dark water. My head felt thick and heavy, the pain dulled by whatever medication they'd given me yesterday. The darkness remained absolute - not the normal darkness of a closed room or nighttime, but something complete and impenetrable.A subtle movement of air touched my skin as someone shifted nearby. Then I caught it - that familiar scent of expensive cologne mingled with something uniquely Kyle. My other senses seemed to have sharpened to compensate for my lost vision, making his presence almost painfully clear.I tried to push myself up, my hands uncertain on the unfamiliar hospital sheets. Immediately, I felt Kyle move closer, the mattress dipping slightly as he leaned in."Careful," his voice came from my left, rough with what sounded like sleep. He must have been dozing in the chair beside my bed. "Let me help you sit up.""I can manage," I said.His hands were gentle but firm as he helped adjust my position, ar
**Mia's POV**Darkness has its own texture. By my fourth day without sight, I'd learned its subtle variations—the soft darkness of early morning, different from the heavy darkness of midnight. The doctors kept assuring me it was temporary, just my body's response to stress and dangerously high blood pressure. But knowledge didn't make the fear less real.The gentle chime of my phone cut through my thoughts. I fumbled for it, fingers finding the smooth glass by muscle memory. After three days of practice, I'd finally mastered the voice commands."Hey gorgeous!" Scarlett's voice filled my room through the text-to-speech function. "The contractors need final approval on those therapy room colors. Want to grab lunch and go over samples?"My throat tightened. I hadn't told her about my condition. Scarlett had already taken on so much—coordinating with suppliers, reviewing materials, attending site meetings on my behalf."Sorry, swamped with deadlines," I dictated carefully. "Can you handle
**Mia's POV**"Mia?" His voice confirmed my guess. "Mind if I come in?""Of course not," I said, automatically turning my face toward his voice. The darkness that had become my constant companion pressed in around me."I was starting to worry," he said, settling into what sounded like the chair beside my bed. "You haven't responded to any messages about the children's center."A small laugh escaped me despite everything. "Am I that predictable?""Let's just say I've noticed you're not the type to leave work messages unanswered." His tone held gentle amusement. "Even at three in the morning.""I didn't realize I was so transparent," I said, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. "Though we haven't known each other long, it seems you've figured me out pretty well.""Professional dedication is easy to spot." Papers rustled - he must be reviewing my charts. "Speaking of which, I have talked with your doctor. And I have some good news about your condition."My hands twisted in the blanket. "Oh?"
Mia's POVA week before Christmas, snow fell gently outside my window. The city sparkled with holiday lights. I should have felt festive. I didn't.Kyle hadn't called. Not once.Three weeks since the park incident.I pressed my forehead against the cold glass. The twins kicked inside me, restless like their mother.I haven't called him. Why should I? He punched Thomas. Acted like a caveman.But his absence hurts. I hate that it hurts.The twins will arrive in January. Where is their father?I never realized that I would want Kyle to be there when I gave birth.Scarlett dropped the bomb at dinner yesterday."Kyle's in Paris," she said, watching me over her wineglass. "Been there two weeks now. Morton says it's about the Diana Porter scandal."I pretended not to care. Changed the subject. Kept my face blank.Kyle in Paris. An ocean away.I guessed that business were always first.Why did I expect anything different?A sharp kick beneath my ribs. Twin A - always the troublemaker.They're
Kyle's POVThe photograph lay on my desk like an accusation. Thomas Wallace, his face too close to Mia's, his hand resting on the small of her back as they walked through the children's center construction site. Her smile—that rare, genuine expression I'd seen directed at me so infrequently during our marriage—illuminated her face as she looked up at him.I slammed my fist against the mahogany desktop, sending a cascade of reports scattering to the floor. The security team I'd assigned to protect her had delivered these images this morning, and each one felt like a personal betrayal. Logically, I knew I had no right to these feelings. We were divorced. I had forfeited any claim on her emotions long ago.Logic, however, did nothing to quell the rage coursing through me.I paced the length of my corner office, the New York skyline a blur beyond the windows. Something primitive and possessive clawed at my insides. The thought of Thomas, for god's sake, stepping into the life I had ruined
Mia's POV"Kyle!" I exclaimed, shock and anger flooding through me. "What are you doing?"Kyle stood over Thomas, his chest heaving, fists still clenched at his sides. "Stay away from my wife," he growled."Ex-wife," I corrected automatically, moving to Thomas's side. "Are you alright?"Thomas touched his jaw gingerly, wincing. "I'll live," he muttered, his eyes never leaving Kyle's face. "Though your ex-husband seems determined to change that."Gas barked frantically, clearly distressed by the sudden violence. Several park-goers had stopped to stare, and I realized with horror that this scene was likely to make tomorrow's gossip columns if any of them recognized Kyle."This is ridiculous," I said, helping Thomas to his feet. "Kyle, you need to leave. Now.""I'm not going anywhere," Kyle retorted, his voice tight with barely controlled rage. "Not while he's with you."I stepped between the two men, one hand protectively on my belly. "This is none of your business, Kyle. Thomas was hel
Mia's POVThe brisk winter air felt refreshing against my face as Thomas and I strolled through Madison Square Park. Gas trotted happily ahead of us, his white fur bright against the dormant winter grass. I placed a hand on my lower back, trying to ease the persistent ache that had become my constant companion in these final weeks of pregnancy."Are you comfortable?" Thomas asked, his eyes filled with concern. "We can head back if you're getting tired.""I'm fine," I assured him, grateful for his thoughtfulness. "This was a good idea. I needed to get out of that apartment."Thomas had shown up at my door unexpectedly, bearing Mediterranean food and a gentle insistence that fresh air would do me good. After days cooped up with nothing but my troubled thoughts for company, I'd finally relented. My mother was out at another of her mysterious "appointments," and the walls had been closing in on me."I'm glad you agreed to come," Thomas said, matching his pace to my ungainly waddle. "You s
Mia's POVI stood by the hospital bed, staring at my father's battered form with mixed emotions. After receiving the call about his "incident" at the prison, I'd came to Mount Sinai Hospital. Now, seeing Richard Williams lying there with tubes and monitors attached to him, I felt karma was real."You came," he said,"I wasn't sure you would.""I almost didn't. My lawyer thought it was a bad idea."My father's eyes flickered to where my attorney stood near the door, then back to me. The harsh hospital lighting emphasized the damage to his face—a swollen eye, split lip, and various bruises spreading across his features."Thank you. I know I don't deserve your concern.""I'm not here out of concern," I clarified. "I'm here because you claimed to have information that affects my safety."A nurse entered, checked his vitals, and adjusted his medication. I waited until she left before continuing."What happened to you?" I asked, gesturing to his injuries."Prison justice," he replied with a
Mia's POVThe package arrived on an ordinary Tuesday morning. No return address, just my name and address printed in neat block letters that bore no distinguishing characteristics. The delivery man had already disappeared down the hallway by the time I opened the door, summoned by the soft knock."Who was that?" Mom called."Delivery," I replied, turning the padded manila envelope over in my hands."What did you order?" She appeared in the doorway, a dish towel slung over one shoulder."Nothing." I held up the package. I carefully tore along the sealed edge.A leather-bound journal, its cover worn at the corners, the pages slightly yellowed with age. The leather was soft, as if it had been handled often, and a delicate ribbon marker protruded from between the pages. There was no note accompanying it, nothing to indicate who had sent it or why."What is it?" Mom asked, peering over my shoulder.I opened the cover carefully, looking for an inscription or any identifying information. On
Mia's POVAs I filled the kettle for morning tea, my phone rang—an unknown number with a local area code. Normally, I'd let such calls go to voicemail, wary of reporters still trying to get comments about the Branson scandal. But something—intuition perhaps—prompted me to answer."Hello?"There was silence on the other end, followed by a crackle of static that suggested an institutional phone system."Hello?" I repeated, irritation creeping into my voice. "Who is this?""Mia."The voice sent ice through my veins, familiar despite the years."Father."The word felt foreign on my tongue, a relic from a past I'd tried to put behind me. Richard Williams."You answered," he said, sounding genuinely surprised. "I wasn't sure you would.""I didn't recognize the number," I replied, my tone deliberately cool. "What do you want?""Is that any way to greet your father?" The familiar note of manipulation had already crept into his voice, the subtle reminder that I owed him respect regardless of h
Mia's POV"Yes, Mom. I'm awake," I called, adjusting myself against the pillows as she peered around the door. "That was a short appointment."She hesitated in the doorway. "It was canceled. The weather, you know."I nodded, though I didn't entirely believe her explanation. The snow, while steady, was hardly a blizzard. New Yorkers carried on through far worse conditions. But I let it pass, unwilling to interrogate her about a private matter she clearly wasn't ready to share."Are you comfortable?" she asked. "You shouldn't stay in bed all day. A little movement is good for circulation.""I was just resting," I assured her. "I had some soup, like you suggested.""Good. I have some papers to review in my office. Will you be alright on your own for a while?""I'm not an invalid, Mom," I reminded her with a smile. "Just pregnant.""Very pregnant," she corrected.After she left, I remained in bed a while longer, listening to the soft sounds of her moving about in her office across the hal
Mia's POVDecember arrived with its first snow, transforming New York into a landscape of pristine white. I stood at the window, my fingers tracing idle patterns on the frosted glass as I observed the silent descent of snowflakes. My reflection stared back at me, a woman has a belly that had expanded to proportions I once would have deemed impossible.The cold had settled into the city with unusual vigor this year, mirroring the chill that had descended upon the Branson name. Each day brought fresh allegations against Alexander Branson, each more damning than the last. The media, like vultures circling a wounded animal, released evidence piece by piece, ensuring the scandal remained perpetually fresh in the public consciousness."Murder," they called it now. Alexander Branson, murderer of Diane Porter—a truth accepted so readily by a public hungry for the downfall of the wealthy and powerful.I sighed, my breath creating a momentary fog upon the window.Diane Porter had been revealed