Chapter 57
Collins
I couldn’t believe how quickly time had slipped away. One moment it felt like yesterday she’d been lying in my hospital bed, and now my birthday was almost here—passing me by like it didn’t matter at all.
I’d be spending it alone.
There was nothing quite as cruel as missing a birthday when the only thing you wanted was to spend it with the woman you loved.
The court proceedings had become the most painful journey of my life—not because of the accusations, not because of the risk to my career, but because they had taken her away from me.
A woman is a man’s greatest weakness. And loving her this much felt like standing exposed, every nerve ending raw.
Before I left for work, I turned back toward Zelda.
“Zelda,” I said. “Wait for me before you go to Anna tonight. I want to stop by the mall and get her something. You can take it with you.”
Zelda hesitated. “She said I mustn’t come tonight.”
A flicker of unease settled on my chest. “Why not?”
“She won’t be home. She’s going out tonight.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
“Where is she going?” I asked, panic rising unexpectedly fast. “And…with who?”
“With her sister and some friends.”
I exhaled slowly, trying to steady myself. Instinct screamed at me to text her—to tell her to be careful, to remind her to take her medication, to wear something warm. But I couldn’t. The court order was clear. No communication.
And then it struck me, sharp and sudden: I didn’t even have Nancy’s number. If I did, I could have at least checked in through her.
“Still go there tonight,” I said after a moment. “Just make sure she leaves the house safely. And…get her sister’s number for me.”
Zelda nodded. “Okay. I will.”
I gave her a grateful look, then turned toward the door. As I left for work, the thought lingered like a dull ache in my chest.
I couldn’t be there for her.
I couldn’t protect her.
All I could do was trust that she’d come back home safely—without me.
And that hurt more than any court ruling ever could.
Just before I stepped inside the practice, my phone buzzed in my hand.
I answered without checking the screen. “Collins.”
Miss. Simmon’s voice came through, low and measured. She needed to speak to me—today—about something that couldn’t wait.
As I walked through the glass doors, I lifted my hand toward reception, silently signalling for my diary. Petra immediately slid it across the counter, already flipping to today’s page.
“One cancellation,” she mouthed.
I glanced down. An unexpected gap stared back at me like a small mercy.
“I have an opening at eleven this morning,” I told my attorney. “Come then.”
We ended the call, and I checked the time before slipping my phone into my pocket. Still an hour before my first patient. An hour to pretend everything was normal.
I headed toward the staff room and found Marlon already there, coffee in hand.
“Morning,” I said.
His face lit up. “Happy birthday, buddy.”
Before I could protest, he was already pulling me into a quick hug. I stood there stiffly for a second before returning it.
“I’m guessing you don’t have plans,” he added, a grin tugging at his mouth. “So—come have drinks at my place tonight. You should see what I’ve done with the penthouse.”
I huffed out a breath. “I think I’ll pass and go home early. Sleep in misery like a responsible adult.”
He laughed. “Don’t be a spoil sport.”
“Misery is kind of my brand lately,” I said.
“Just think about it,” he insisted.
“Alright,” I said, though we both knew thinking didn’t mean committing. “I’ll think about it.”
As he turned back to his coffee, my smile slowly slipped away. Birthdays had never meant much to me before. I’d always treated them like just another date on the calendar—something to get through, not something to feel.
But this year…I wanted it to matter.
Because of her.
Instead, it felt like every other day lately—hollow, stretched thin by distance. A reminder that the only place I wanted to be tonight was one I wasn’t allowed to go.
And the one person I wanted to celebrate with…wasn’t mine to touch, to text, or even to hear her say happy birthday.
After finishing with my first few patients, it was time to meet with Miss. Simmons. I led her to one of the small consultation rooms at my practice—quiet, private, and far enough from the waiting area to talk freely.
“Dr. Collins,” she said as Petra guided her in, her tone calm but businesslike.
“Good morning,” I replied, setting my coffee on the table and gesturing for her to sit.
She opened her bag and pulled out a folder, flipping it open with deliberate precision. “Let’s get right to it,” she said. “The allegation that you’re after Miss. Mathews’ money…we need to go through it carefully, point by point.”
I frowned. “Go on.”
“Her mother had a life insurance policy worth three million dollars at the time of her death. Her father received one million, which he used responsibly for the girls’ upbringing and education. The remaining two million was invested, and Winston Legal Group was appointed as the trustees.”
My brow shot up. “Wait…the firm where Michael works? The same one representing him now?”
“Exactly,” Miss. Simmons said, a sharp glint in her eye.
“Here’s the kicker: neither Anna nor her sister, nor even her father, knew about their inheritance.
They thought the only funds were the one million their father received.
However, the two million invested has grown to 3.
8 million over the last thirteen years with accrued interest.”
I leaned back, absorbing it. “So… they had no idea. And Michael did?”
“Yes,” she nodded. “Because he works there. Only he had knowledge of the trust. The mother set specific conditions—access only upon marriage or when they turn thirty, whichever comes first. She wanted them to marry for love, not for money.”
I raised an eyebrow. “So this alone works in my favour.”
“It does,” she said firmly. “Your current net worth—your practice, your assets, everything—proves that you never needed Miss. Mathews’ money. You were financially independent. Michael, on the other hand…he’s in a far more precarious position.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“How long have she and Michael known each other?” she asked, leaning slightly forward.
“She said since high school. That’s when they started dating, but they also broke up back then. He only contacted her again after joining his new firm.”
“Ah,” she said, tapping the table. “Now it’s getting interesting. That’s exactly the angle we needed. Michael had motive and opportunity, but you—your finances, your independence—completely remove any suspicion of greed from your side.”
I let out a slow breath, feeling some tension ease from my shoulders. “So you have something on him?”
She smiled faintly, closing her bag. “See you in court. The details will speak for themselves.”
As she walked away, I couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of relief and anticipation. The battle ahead was going to be messy, but at least now, the scales weren’t tipped against me.
Marlon stepped into the room, his eyes flicking from me to the door where my attorney had just exited. He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Morgan looked… pleased,” he said, amusement in his voice.
I gave a tight-lipped smile. “Wish me luck,” I murmured, more to myself than to him.
He leaned against the edge of the table, casual but expectant. “So…do you feel like coming to my place tonight, or are you still mulling it over?”
I hesitated. “I still want to think about it,” I said finally, my voice calm.
Part of me wanted to escape into normalcy, to forget the court, the inheritance mess, and all the tension that had been wrapping around my life like a vice.
But another part…wanted to hold on to some control, to make the choice on my own terms.
“By the way,” Marlon said casually, leaning against the counter, “how’s the sign language going? I think I really need to start soon.”
I glanced at him. “Why? You’re thinking about Nancy again.”
A slow breath left him. “I saw her last week and—damn.” He shook his head, like the word alone wasn’t enough to explain it.
I straightened. “You saw her last week?”
“Um—” He hesitated, clearly realizing he’d said more than he meant to. “That… slipped.”
I studied him. “Are you seeing her?”
“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “I’m not.”
“Good,” I replied evenly. “Because if you actually want to pursue Nancy, you have to be serious. You can’t be making wedding plans with one woman while your mind is clearly somewhere else.”
He looked down, jaw tightening. “I know.” After a moment, he added quietly, “That’s the problem. Seeing her made things…clearer. Uncomfortable, but clearer.”
“So?” I pressed.
“So, I need to draw a line,” he said. “For her sake. And mine.”
That answer told me more than anything else could.