Chapter 49
Anna
The drive to my dad’s place was painfully quiet. Ian kept glancing at me every few minutes, like he was checking that I was still there, still breathing, still his.
At a red light, he reached for my hand. He lifted it gently and brushed his lips over my knuckles without taking his eyes off the road.
“I’m willing to lose any battle,” he said quietly. “Any one… except this.”
My throat tightened. I didn’t trust myself to speak.
We pulled up outside my dad’s house just after sunset. The porch light flicked on as the door opened, and Dad froze when he saw us—me in my wheelchair, Ian behind me, both of us looking like we’d driven straight out of a nightmare.
“This is a surprise,” he said slowly.
“Hi, Dad.”
I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his legs, the tears spilling over. I couldn’t stop them.
He stiffened in alarm, then rested a hand on my shoulder. His eyes lifted to Ian.
“What’s wrong, Ian?”
“There’s a court order,” Ian said, though I could hear the strain beneath his calm. “It requests that Anna be placed in her father’s care. Michael is taking me to court over Anna.”
“What?” Dad snapped. “That’s ridiculous.”
Then, softer, firmer: “Come in.”
Ian rolled me inside while Dad closed the door behind us, already shaking his head in disbelief.
“I’ll grab Anna’s bags from the car,” Ian said, turning back outside.
Dad knelt in front of me and pulled me into a careful hug. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmured. “That man loves you. Michael won’t get away with this.”
Nancy stepped out of her room, her brows lifting in surprise. “You’re here?” she signed—then she saw my face, the tears streaking down my cheeks.
“What’s wrong?”
Her gaze shifted just as Ian came back in, carrying my bags.
Her hands froze mid-air.
“Are you two breaking up?”
I shook my head quickly. “No. It’s Michael.”
Ian pulled the summons from his jacket and handed it to my dad. Dad’s jaw tightened as he read, his grip crumpling the paper slightly.
“This man has a nerve,” he said darkly. “These accusations… unbelievable.”
I noticed Nancy’s eyes scanning the pages too. She gently took the document from Dad and looked at me.
“Did you read it?”
I took it from her hands. The words blurred. My chest caved in, and I broke down all over again.
Ian was there instantly, crouching beside me, wrapping his arms around me like he could shield me from the paper, the court, the world. Dad and Nancy quietly moved away, giving us space.
“I love you,” Ian whispered into my hair. “So, so much. Don’t ever doubt that. Okay?”
“I love you too,” I whispered back.
He kissed me softly—carefully—like the moment itself was fragile.
Then I pulled back, pointing weakly at the summons. “We can’t even…reach out to each other?”
His jaw tightened. “I’m afraid not, love.”
That single word—love—was what finally shattered me.
Because it sounded like goodbye.
He reached for my hand, his thumb brushing over the ring on my finger like he was memorising its shape.
“Don’t ever take this off,” he said quietly. “Except when you absolutely have to.”
Then, after a beat, “And if you still have Michael’s ring… send it back to him.”
“I will,” I whispered.
He searched my face. “Promise me you won’t be in contact with him.”
“I promise.”
He leaned in and kissed me one last time—slow, careful, like he was afraid the moment would fracture if he rushed it. Then he straightened, forced a breath, and turned away.
I watched him walk out. I didn’t move until I heard the door close behind him.
After Dad saw him out, the house felt too quiet. Too big.
I looked between Dad and Nancy and forced a small, broken smile. “I guess…I’m back home.”
Dad’s expression softened immediately. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Things will get better.” He squeezed my shoulder. “We just need to give it time.”
Nancy shifted awkwardly. “I kind of… took your room,” she signed apologetically. “I turned mine into a guest room.”
I shrugged, exhaustion settling deep into my bones. “It’s okay. I’ll sleep in the guest room.”
Because tonight, everything felt temporary, including me.
An hour later, the doorbell rang.
Dad went to answer it while I remained in the lounge, still sitting exactly where Ian had left me, as if I moved the day might finally collapse in on itself.
Moments later, Dad returned, his expression careful.
“Sweetheart,” he said. “someone’s here for you.”
I looked up. Zelda?
“What are you doing here?” I asked, genuinely startled.
She stepped forward, hands clasped in front of her. “Dr. Collins asked me to come. He wanted to make sure you’d have help—bathing, dressing, anything you might need.” She hesitated. “He suggested I come every morning and evening.”
“Oh. You don’t have to do that,” I said quickly. “My sister can help me.”
“Please, Miss. Mathews, let me. Dr. Collins was going to send a nurse, but I told him you’d probably feel more comfortable with me.”
I sighed, my shoulders slumping. “Okay… if you insist.”
Then I looked at her properly. “When are you going to start calling me Anna?”
She stiffened slightly. “I don’t think that would be appropriate.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Nice way of saying you don’t want to be my friend.”
“No—no, it’s not that,” she said quickly. “I’m Dr. Collins’ employee. And you’re going to be his wife.”
“So?” I countered. “You’re his employee, not mine. I’d appreciate it if you called me Anna.”
She studied me for a second, then nodded. “Alright… Anna. As you wish.”
A small smile appeared. “Now—shall I help you to the bath?”
“Yes,” I said quietly. “That would be appreciated.”
The bathroom filled with steam as Zelda helped me into the tub. She moved carefully, respectfully, the way she always did. As she washed my back, my throat tightened.
I miss Ian.
I miss the way he did this—like it was never a chore, like caring for me was normal.
“He’s a wreck,” Zelda said suddenly.
I stilled. “What is he doing now?” I asked.
“He’s been sitting in the same spot since he got home. Just… staring. Looking miserable.” She paused. “I think, me being here helps a little. At least he knows I can tell him how you’re doing.”
My chest ached. “Do you think…I could send him a letter?”
Zelda didn’t answer immediately. Then she shook her head. “I would strongly advise against that. No communication means no communication. You don’t want anything tangible that could be traced back to you. You never know who might stumble across it.”
I exhaled sharply. “That sucks.”
She gave a small, sympathetic smile. “But,” she added gently, “I can pass messages between the two of you.”
I looked up at her, hope flickering for the first time that evening.
“Really?”
She nodded. “Discreetly.”
It wasn’t enough.
But for now…it was something.
After my bath, Zelda wheeled me into my bedroom and positioned me in front of the mirror. The room was quiet, wrapped in that heavy stillness that only comes at night.
She stood behind me, drying my hair, her movements slow and careful. I reached for my lipstick and twisted it open—a deep, blood-red shade.
“You wear lipstick before you sleep, Miss…?” she asked, clearly surprised.
“Anna,” I corrected softly.
She smiled. “Okay. Anna.”
“No,” I said, meeting my own reflection. I pressed my lips together once, then reached for a tissue. Carefully, I planted a kiss on it, leaving a perfect outline behind. I folded it once and held it out to her.
“Give this to Ian,” I said. My voice didn’t waver, even though my chest ached. “Tell him I’m thinking of him.”
She caught my eyes in the mirror, her expression warm, understanding. She took the tissue slowly, as if it were something fragile and precious.
“I will,” she said. “I promise.”
When she finished drying my hair, she set the towel aside. Without thinking, I lifted my arms toward her.
She hesitated only a second before stepping closer, and I hugged her tightly.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “You don’t have to come in the mornings. Evenings only will be fine.”
“Are you sure?” Zelda asked, hesitation clear in her voice.
“Positive.”
She nodded, accepting it. Then she helped me settle beneath the blankets, tucking them carefully around my legs before switching off the bedside lamp.
Just as she reached the door, a soft meow echoed down the hallway.
I glanced up as a tiny black and white kitten slipped through my half-open door, all paws and curiosity. He wandered toward the bed.
“Hey, cutie,” I whispered, reaching out. I lifted him carefully onto my chest, and he curled there without hesitation, warm and light as I stroked his fur. For a moment, everything felt… normal.
Nancy rushed back in. “There you are,” she signed. Before I could protest, she gently but firmly lifted the kitten off me.
“Your allergies,” she signed, worry written all over her face.
“It’s okay,” I replied softly. “I’m not sneezing. I feel fine.”
She hesitated, then signed, “I didn’t know you were going to be home. That’s why I got the kitten.”
“It’s really not a problem,” I assured her. “You know I love cats anyway—despite my allergies.”
She studied me for a moment, then relaxed.
“What time would you like me to help you get up in the morning?” she signed.
“You don’t have to,” I said. “I can get out of bed and into the wheelchair by myself these days. It just takes me a little longer.”
“Okay,” she signed. “But if you need help, text me.”
“I will,” I promised. “Sleep tight.”
“You too,” she signed, stepping out and pulling the door closed behind her.
The room settled again. I lay there with my phone resting in my hand, my thumb hovering over Ian’s name. I wanted to text him—but stopped myself. The last thing I needed was more doubt, more questions piling up against him.
So I placed the phone face down on the nightstand, turned my head toward the pillow, and let sleep take me.