Monday arrived with clear skies and a warm breeze drifting through the city.
Malissa stood in front of the bathroom mirror, adjusting the collar of her blouse.
The hospital had become part of her routine.A few months ago, she would never have imagined saying that.
Back then every visit had been accompanied by fear. Fear of bad news. Fear of another bill.
Fear of watching her mother's condition worsen.
Things weren't perfect now.
Far from it.
But they were improving.
The doctors were optimistic.
The appeal was still moving forward.
And three times a week, she got to hear her father's voice.
It wasn't much.
Yet somehow it felt like everything.
A small smile touched her lips before she grabbed her bag and headed downstairs.
The penthouse was unusually quiet.
Alexander had already left.
A half-finished cup of coffee sat abandoned near the breakfast island.
Evidence that he had been there only minutes earlier.
She hesitated briefly.
Then continued toward the elevator.
The hospital was waiting.
The elevator ride was uneventful.
The hospital wasn't.
Malissa stepped inside the building and immediately felt it.
A look. Then another. And another.
At first she ignored it.
Hospitals were full of people.
People stared. It happened.
She pressed the elevator button and waited.
Two women joined her moments later.
One of them glanced at her.
Looked away.
Looked back again.
The second woman followed her gaze.
A whisper passed between them.
Malissa pretended not to notice.
The elevator doors opened.
All three stepped inside.
Silence filled the small space.
Then,
"Excuse me."
Malissa looked up.
One of the women smiled awkwardly.
"Aren't you Alexander Marquez's girlfriend?"
Everything inside her stilled. The question wasn't rude. It wasn't even hostile.
The woman sounded genuinely curious.
That somehow made it worse.
Malissa managed a polite smile.
"I think that's what the internet says."
The woman laughed nervously.
"So it is you."
The other woman pulled out her phone before quickly lowering it again.
As though she remembered where she was.
The rest of the ride passed in silence.
But when the doors opened, Malissa felt their eyes following her.
Watching. Observing. Interested.
The feeling stayed with her all the way down the corridor.
The nurses recognized her too.
Not openly. Not unprofessionally.
But she noticed.
A pause.
A second glance.
A whisper exchanged at a reception desk.
She hadn't been famous long enough to become numb to it.
Every look felt personal.
Every whisper felt deliberate.
By the time she entered her mother's room, she was exhausted.
Evelyn Fisher immediately noticed.
"What happened?"
Malissa blinked.
"What do you mean?"
"You have that face."
"What face?"
"The one you make when something is bothering you."
Malissa dropped into the chair beside the bed.
Evelyn smiled knowingly.
"I knew it."
"Apparently I make faces now."
"You always have."
Malissa sighed.
The tension slowly left her shoulders.
Being here helped. It always did.
For a while they talked about ordinary things.
Lunch. Medication.
The nurse who constantly smuggled extra pudding into Evelyn's room.
Small things. Normal things.
The kind of things Malissa had learned to appreciate.
Then eventually she mentioned the elevator.
The recognition. The stares. The whispers.
Everything.
Evelyn listened quietly.
When she finished speaking, her mother was silent for a moment.
"The attention bothers you."
It wasn't a question.
Malissa nodded.
"A little."
"A little?"
"Fine. A lot."
Her mother laughed softly.
The sound filled the room.
"I don't know how people live like this."
"Like what?"
"Being watched all the time."
She stared down at her hands.
"I feel like I belong to everyone now."
The words slipped out before she could stop them.
The room fell quiet.
Evelyn studied her carefully.
Then she reached over and squeezed her hand.
"You don't belong to everyone."
Malissa looked up.
"You belong to yourself."
Something about the simple statement settled inside her.
Not enough to erase the discomfort.
But enough to make it easier to breathe.
The afternoon passed quickly.
By the time she left the hospital, she paused beneath the shade of the entrance canopy while waiting for a taxi.
The encounter in the elevator lingered in her mind.
"We saw the photos online."
Curiosity got the better of her.
She unlocked her phone.
Typed Alexander Marquez into the search bar.
The article appeared almost immediately.
##MARQUEZ HEIR SPOTTED VISITING HOSPITAL WITH MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND##
She opened it.
The photographs were the same ones everyone else had seen.
Alexander holding the hospital door open.
The two of them walking through the lobby.
Someone had even managed to capture the moment she reached for the elevator button.
She scrolled lower.
The comments loaded one after another.
Some congratulated them.
Some joked about secret wedding plans.
Others speculated about why they were at the hospital.
[She doesn't even look like she belongs beside him.]
Her thumb stopped.
Another comment appeared beneath it.
[Alexander Marquez could do so much better.]
Another.
[She looks so ordinary.]
She stared at the screen for several quiet seconds before locking her phone.
That was enough.
She wasn't interested in reading strangers decide who deserved to stand beside another person.
She slipped her phone back into her handbag just as her taxi pulled over.
Without another glance at the article, she climbed inside.
Back at the penthouse, silence greeted her.
She welcomed it.
For the first time all day, nobody was looking at her.
Nobody was whispering.
Nobody was trying to figure out who she was.
She headed upstairs.
Changed into something comfortable.
Then returned to the living room.
Her sketchbook rested on the coffee table.
The same sketches she'd been looking through the previous day.
Old designs. Old dreams. She opened it.
A pencil found its way into her hand.
For nearly an hour she worked quietly.
Adjusting a neckline. Changing a sleeve.
Adding details she'd never had time to finish years ago.
The familiar rhythm calmed her.
She hadn't realized how much she missed it.
The sound of the elevator interrupted her concentration.
A few moments later, Alexander stepped inside.
Suit jacket draped over one arm.
Phone pressed against his ear.
He ended the call as he crossed the room.
His gaze briefly landed on the sketchbook.
Then on her.
A small pause.
Nothing more.
"How is your mother?"
The question surprised her.
Not because he asked.
Because he remembered.
"She's doing well."
A brief nod.
"Good."
That was all.
He moved toward his study.
She returned to her drawing.
The conversation ended as quickly as it began.
Yet for some reason, she found herself staring at the doorway long after he disappeared.
Across the city, Clarissa Vale leaned back in her chair, her laptop balanced across her knees.
Search results filled the screen.
University graduation photographs.
An old group picture from design school.
A handful of posts with an older woman she assumed was Malissa's mother.
One faded photograph from Aurora Publishing with an employee identification card hanging around Malissa's neck.
Then...
Nothing.
The account had barely been active for years. No luxury vacations. No influential family.
No wealthy friends.
Nothing that explained why Alexander Marquez had chosen her.
Clarissa slowly closed the laptop.
"What exactly do you see in her...?"
The question escaped before she could stop it. The thought of it irritated her.
She was a woman who should never have crossed paths with someone like Alexander.
Yet somehow she had.
Alexander was halfway through reviewing a proposal when his phone vibrated.
A message from Mike.
Mike: [Thought you should see this.]
A link followed.
Alexander opened it.
The same hospital article. It seems to be gaining traction.
But, the discussion had changed.
The comments were no longer focused on his relationship.
They were focused on Malissa.
More specifically...
Her mother.
One comment caught his attention.
[If that's really her mother, someone should find out which ward she's staying in.]
Another followed.
[Imagine running into Alexander Marquez during visiting hours.]
Then another.
[Somebody working there should confirm it.]
Alexander's expression remained unreadable.
He tapped Mike's number.
The call connected almost immediately.
"Sir."
"Increase security around the hospital."
A brief silence.
"No reporters."
Another pause.
"No unauthorized visitors."
His eyes remained on the article.
"Medical personnel assigned to Mrs. Fisher only. Approved family members only."
"I'll take care of it."
The line disconnected.
Alexander set his phone aside and returned to the report on his desk.
Outside, the city carried on as usual.
Online, thousands of strangers continued discussing a woman who had never asked to become part of their conversation.