At the hospital, the dim light filtered through the blinds, painting pale rectangles across the polished, cold floor.
The hallway reeked of disinfectant — sharp and acidic — intertwined with the wilted scent of forgotten flowers perched atop the reception desk. The tick of the wall clock merged with whispers and hurried footsteps scraping the floor, composing a restless, sterile symphony.
Sophie lay there, slender as a young actress drained by her own performance. Her face was pale, dark circles hollowing her eyes, her straight dark hair in disarray.
Beautiful, yes, but stripped of all stage glamour, except for the porcelain skin, now marked with scrapes and bruises. Her mouth, split in two trembling red lines, betrayed her nerves.
She rubbed her long fingers together, seeking warmth; trying to reclaim whatever piece of herself might be left after being thrown away like garbage. With a mix of disgust and resignation, she noticed a thread of dried blood still trailing down her shin, neglected by an overworked nurse.
Fear hurt more than the physical pain. And the physical pain was nothing compared to the wound inside her. Sophie bit her lower lip, fighting not to cry there in her chair as patients, nurses, doctors, and visitors moved past her, indifferent.
Around her, the sounds of the hospital: a scream in the distance, a muffled sob, the creak of a gurney. Everything seemed to announce that here, as in every place marked by suffering, there are only two kinds of people: those who wait and those who never return.
Emily appeared in the doorway, hair pulled back in haste, a white coat thrown over a simple dark dress.
Her face carried the exhaustion of nights on call, but her eyes — so sharp, so green — shone with that implacable mix of weariness and tenderness only siblings share. She approached silently, sat beside Sophie, and, with a precise gesture, wrapped her arms around her shoulders, inspecting the bruises with practiced hands.
"Sophie, what happened was serious," she murmured at last—her voice that of a doctor, her gaze pure sister. The coat revealed a slender wrist, wedding ring glinting. "I need to know: could he come after you? Do you really think you and the baby are in danger?"
Sophie took a deep breath, struggling to keep her hands from shaking. She stared up at the ceiling, tears gathering behind long lashes.
"After today, I don't know what he's capable of anymore…" she said, voice barely above a whisper. "He threw me out of the car, Emily… I'm so scared! If he wants to… I thought about going to the police. But remember Janet, my friend from college? Her ex broke into her house even with a restraining order. The police only showed up when it was already too late."
Emily squeezed her fingers, her warm skin against Sophie's cold hands.
"Sophie… I'm a doctor. Even though I work in clinical research, I see it all the time: women report abuse, the police file the paperwork, but then what? The abuser always finds a way, and Daniel isn't just anyone, he's got money, knows important people, could make evidence disappear, pay off witnesses. We can't count on luck."
The silence between them thickened, hanging over the hospital bed like a heavy curtain.
"So listen," Emily said now, with that gentle directness that only love can manage. "You're coming home with me, to Queens. No one will find you there."
"And if he comes looking? If he finds out?"
"He won't know you're still pregnant. If he shows up, you say you lost the baby after he threw you out of the car. You'll stay indoors, no going out, no contact with anyone. We'll have to hide you until this baby is born. I have an OB friend, she can help with a home birth."
Sophie drew in a breath, nausea rising at the mingled scent of ether and lavender.
"I'll pretend the pregnancy is mine. Brian is working on a cruise ship, won't be back for a year. I'll say I found out I was pregnant after he left, and by the time he returns, the child will already be born… He'll understand, maybe even be happy, he always wanted another child. It's not a perfect story, but it keeps this baby safer."
"What if it doesn't work?" Sophie's voice came out small, fear lodged in her throat.
"It's the only way to keep you and the baby safe. If I have to, I'll write the medical note, make the records disappear, no one will know you're still pregnant. You'll stay at home, hidden. If anyone asks, I'll say you went to Los Angeles to try your luck. You have to promise, Sophie: stay off the streets, no contact with anyone."
Sophie nodded, resignation settling like a weight in her chest. She shrank a little deeper into the chair, feeling small before it all.
"I was supposed to audition for the musical next week… It was my dream."
Emily offered a sad smile, the kind of smile that knows dreams sometimes have to wait, and declared,
"Other chances will come. Right now, your dream is to survive and keep your child safe. We can't take risks! If he had the nerve to throw you out of a car while you were pregnant, he could do even worse."
Sophie squeezed her sister's hands, feeling the last warmth of love she could hold. They exchanged a look, a silent pact. For a moment, they were just two girls again, clinging to each other's embrace.
Emily pulled her close, sealing the pact-sisters, survivors, silent allies in a hospital corridor where even the light seemed unsure about the future.
Emily hugged her, sealing a pact between sisters, a pact for survival.