Two days passed.
Then three.
Time did not move the way it used to.
It no longer felt like something that carried her forward; it felt like something that stretched endlessly, each hour dragging against her chest, each night settling heavier than the last.
Luna did not come.
Not once.
No footsteps in the hallway that belonged to her, no quiet presence at the edge of the room, no voice controlling, correcting, observing—nothing.
It was as if she had disappeared.
And that absence was not relief.
It was something worse.
Because Misty had already learned that silence was never empty.
It was always preparation.
—
The nights were the hardest.
Not because of pain.
Not because of fear.
But because of memory.
Jack's voice.
Jack's eyes.
The way he had looked at her—
Not confused.
Not uncertain.
But certain.
Certain enough to walk away.
Misty lay awake through most of those nights, her body still recovering, her movements limited, but her mind refusing rest, replaying the same moment over and over again as if repetition might change the outcome.
You're a monster.
The words stayed.
Not loud.
Not echoing.
Just present.
Constant.
And sometimes—
Quiet tears slipped without sound, without movement, because even grief had become something she no longer expressed fully, something she held in small, controlled fragments as if allowing it to grow would make it impossible to contain.
—
On the fourth morning, something changed.
Misty noticed it before she understood it.
A presence.
At the door.
She turned slowly.
And saw him.
Jack.
Standing there.
Real.
Still.
Watching her.
Her breath caught.
For a second, she didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Because the moment didn't feel real.
Because hope—
Even now—
Still found ways to return in the smallest, most fragile forms.
"Jack…" her voice broke immediately.
She pushed herself forward despite the pain, despite the weakness in her body, her hands gripping the edge of the bed as if holding onto something that could disappear if she didn't reach it fast enough.
"Please… don't leave me again," she said, tears forming instantly, her voice shaking not from fear—but from something deeper.
"I love you… please… believe me…"
The words came out uneven, desperate, unfiltered.
Not practiced.
Not controlled.
The last honest thing she had left.
Jack didn't respond immediately.
He stepped closer.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Misty's heart tightened.
Because he wasn't angry.
He wasn't cold.
He was—
Different.
He reached her.
Sat beside her.
And for the first time since everything broke—
He leaned his shoulder against hers.
The contact was light.
But it felt like everything.
"I know," he said quietly.
"I believe you."
The words shattered something inside her.
Not painfully.
Relief.
Pure.
Overwhelming.
Her body relaxed slightly as a broken breath escaped her lips, her hands trembling as she held onto that moment, that sentence, that belief she had been waiting for, holding onto it like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.
"You… you do?" she whispered.
"Yes," he said.
"Let's go home."
Home.
The word felt distant.
Unreal.
But she nodded anyway.
Because she didn't question it.
Couldn't.
Because hope had returned—
And it had blinded everything else.
—
He helped her stand.
Carefully.
Supporting her weight as they moved slowly toward the door, her steps unsteady, her body still weak but her heart—
Her heart was holding onto something again.
They walked through the corridor.
Staff glanced.
Some surprised.
Some confused.
But no one stopped them.
Because the system allowed movement when it believed control was intact.
And Misty—
Misty believed.
—
The main entrance was crowded.
Visitors.
Patients.
Voices blending into a low hum of normal life.
The kind of place where everything happened in plain sight—and no one truly saw anything.
They reached the center.
And then—
Jack stopped.
Misty turned slightly.
"Jack…?"
There was no warning.
No hesitation.
Just a sudden force—
He pushed her.
Not violently enough to throw her down completely—but enough.
Enough to break the balance she had been holding onto.
Her hand caught herself.
Barely.
Her body trembled as she looked up at him.
Confusion hit first.
Then something deeper.
"Why…?"
The word barely came out.
And then—
Laughter.
Sharp.
Clear.
Cutting through the air like something that didn't belong to the moment—but had been waiting for it.
Misty froze.
She knew that sound.
Luna stepped forward from the crowd.
Smiling.
Watching.
Enjoying.
"There she is," Luna said loudly, her voice carrying easily through the space, drawing attention without effort.
Her finger pointed directly at Misty.
"This girl."
People turned.
Looked.
Watched.
And just like that—
The stage was set again.
"This girl is a slut," Luna said clearly.
No hesitation.
No filter.
"First she betrays her boyfriend with three men—then records it, uploads it, lets the whole world see it just to get attention."
The words spread.
Quick.
Efficient.
People stopped walking.
Stopped talking.
Phones lifted.
Eyes fixed.
Misty shook her head.
"No… no that's not—"
"She got pregnant with their child," Luna continued, louder now, her voice sharp, controlled, every word placed perfectly.
"And then acted like she was some innocent saint."
Misty looked at Jack.
Desperate.
Broken.
"Jack… please…"
But he didn't move.
Didn't speak.
He just watched.
Smiling.
A small, quiet smile.
"That baby?" Luna added.
"She killed it."
Gasps.
Whispers.
Judgment.
Instant.
Unquestioned.
"Because she thought it was yours," Luna said, her voice lowering slightly, almost intimate—but still loud enough.
"And now? Now she wants to come back."
Misty's chest tightened.
Her breath broke.
"No… no please—"
"But it's too late," Luna finished.
"Because now—Jack loves me."
The words landed.
Final.
"I love him," she added.
Then she stepped closer—
And kissed him.
Right in front of Misty.
Right there.
In the center of everything.
Misty felt it then.
Not pain.
Not anger.
Something worse.
Something that felt like the world had shifted beneath her feet and left nothing stable behind.
"How… how could you…?" she whispered.
Her voice barely held together.
Jack turned toward her.
And then—
He slapped her.
Once.
Then again.
And again.
The sound echoed.
Sharp.
Repeated.
Until counting didn't matter anymore.
Until it became something else entirely.
Then he pushed her.
Kicked her.
Not wildly.
But deliberately.
Each movement controlled.
Each one meant to hurt—not just her body, but something deeper.
"If I knew you were this kind of woman," he said coldly, his voice cutting through everything, "I would have never accepted you."
The words stayed.
He stepped back.
Looked at her one last time—
Not with love.
Not with doubt.
With rejection.
Complete.
Final.
—
Misty didn't move.
Didn't scream.
Didn't beg anymore.
Because something inside her—
The last part that still hoped—
Had just been destroyed.
Completely.
Irreversibly.
—
Around her, people watched.
Whispered.
Judged.
Recorded.
As if her life was nothing more than something to witness.
To consume.
To forget.
—
And Luna—
Luna stood there.
Calm again.
Controlled.
Watching.
Not the girl she had broken—
But the moment that finished her.
—
Because this—
This was the last piece of her heart.
And it had just been taken.
Without anything left in return.