CHAPTER 40
They took Nina out through the service entrance.
The exit was for staff only—a narrow, windowless corridor.
She was dressed in hospital scrubs and an oversized black men’s jacket Jasper had brought her.
A disposable medical mask hid most of her face.
One of Nolan’s security men walked ahead, another pushed the wheelchair.
Jasper stayed somewhere behind them. Nina could feel his gaze burning into the back of her head.
They were in a hurry.
“Almost there,” the man in front said, opening another door.
Her heart hammered, but she wasn’t afraid.
She was escaping the hospital—from Frank.
An ambulance was already waiting outside. One of Jasper’s men opened the door, helped her inside, carefully tucked a blanket over her knees. Everything was precise, coordinated. No one spoke.
“You’re holding up very well,” a woman in a white coat said as she climbed in after Nina. The doors closed. Nina caught a glimpse of Jasper’s worried eyes. “I’m Irina. A nurse. I’ll be with you for a while.”
Nina nodded. She wanted to be alone, but that wasn’t an option. Jasper had taken care of everything. She’d never seen this woman before, but Jasper had insisted Irina was trustworthy.
Nina studied her more closely. Slightly younger than she was. Beautiful. Raven-black hair. An unwelcome thought flickered: what was their relationship?
The ambulance rocked gently through the sleeping city. The siren stayed off—they were moving calmly, without urgency. Nina couldn’t see the road, but she felt when they left downtown: the street noise faded, the turns grew smoother, the air inside cooler.
They were heading to Lynn’s house.
Nina still didn’t understand how she’d agreed to this. Inside, everything tightened into a hard knot.
Was she really going there?
“Are you comfortable?” Irina asked, pulling her back to the present.
“Yes,” Nina answered softly. “Thank you.”
Irina adjusted the blanket and looked at her like she was something fragile—porcelain. It made Nina highly uncomfortable.
The ambulance took one last turn. The sound beneath the wheels changed—asphalt gave way to the soft crunch of gravel. The stop was smooth, almost silent.
The back doors opened, and bright daylight hit her in the face. After the dim interior, it cut into her eyes. Nina squinted and took a deep breath of fresh air.
“Careful,” a guard said, offering his hand.
He helped her down. Pain flared immediately, especially along her left side—thick, heavy, stubborn. Her legs wobbled, but Nina held herself steady. She didn’t want to look weak.
She recognized the house at once. The same house where she'd first seen Lynn.
Jasper hadn’t come with them. After their last conversation, he’d kept his distance entirely. All communication now went through Nolan.
Irina slipped an arm under Nina’s and helped her to the door.
“Jasper said you can choose any room,” she told her. “If you need anything bought—just say the word. I’ll take care of it.”
Jasper.
Just Jasper. Not Dr. Garth.
For some reason, it stung. Nina irritably pulled her arm free and walked into the house on her own. Her mood soured instantly, despite the fact that the escape had gone perfectly. Frank had no idea where she was now.
Nina let out a heavy breath and sank into a soft armchair, looking around. The place was warm. Lived-in.
And it belonged to her daughter.
She moved through the house like she was in a museum, afraid to touch anything—afraid of disturbing someone else’s balance.
Modern, expensive paintings lined the walls. Books filled the shelves. By the staircase stood a vase with cotton branches. Nina wanted to brush her fingers over them but didn’t dare.
Irina was always somewhere nearby. Never intrusive. Never asking questions. She brought pills, water, checked Nina’s blood pressure—then went back to her phone, typing at an astonishing speed.
Nina was a model patient. She took her medication on schedule, slept when she was told, pretended she was fine. There were only a few days left in the course—Jasper had written out a detailed treatment plan and added, “Do not miss a single dose.”
Later that afternoon, Nina wandered into the living room and noticed an album on one of the shelves. Old. Fabric cover. Worn corners. Gold-edged.
Her fingers reached for it on their own.
She carried it to the bedroom, closed the door, and sat on the bed.
The first photo was of Lynn.
Tiny. Wearing owl pajamas. Messy hair. A pacifier in her mouth.
Then older. Smiling. A polka-dot dress.
In another photo, Jasper had her on his shoulders, laughing, while Lynn reached for the sky.
Nina turned page after page. Holidays. Ordinary days. Jasper and Lynn in the park, by the Christmas tree, in the kitchen—flour on his nose.
There was so much light in those pictures.
So much love.
And she broke.
First her nose stung. Then a single tear slipped free, and everything collapsed. Nina pressed the album to her chest and cried—silently, into the pillow, like a teenager.
All those years, Lynn had grown up without her. She was a terrible mother. She’d sent her child to an orphanage and pretended she hadn’t carried her for nine months.
Nina didn’t know how much time passed. An hour. Maybe more.
A soft knock sounded at the door.
“Nina, are you alright?” Irina asked quietly, concern in her voice.
Nina wiped her face quickly with her sleeve.
“Yes,” she said. Her voice was hoarse, but steady. “There’s no need to worry.”
Irina didn’t press. She left. And Nina stayed. Alone with a past that, it turned out, hadn’t been hiding in her head.
It lived in those photographs. In a child’s laughter she’d never heard.
Lynn.
Her daughter.
And Nina didn't know if Lynn would ever forgive her.