Footsteps echoed softly across the hospital floor, slow at first, then growing clearer, edging closer to her bed. Fiona kept her eyes half closed, pretending to rest as the quiet scrape of shoes stopped just beside her. A gentle rustle of paperwork followed, then the low murmur of two women who clearly believed she was too unconscious to hear them.
"Mr. Blake said we should collect as much blood as we need for Natasha ma'am," one nurse said casually, as though the request were no different from fetching an extra syringe.
Fiona's stomach tightened. Her fingers curled faintly. She could almost feel the sting again, that draining pull beneath her skin, the dizzy heaviness spreading through her limbs when they had drawn and drawn and drawn, ignoring how her vision blurred and her breathing slowed.
Another nurse let out a dreamy sigh. "Let's do it quickly. I want to go see Natasha ma'am afterward. Have you seen her face? I swear I thought celebrities looked good only with makeup and surgery, but she's naturally stunning. And her hands… oh my God. So delicate. Her nails were prettier than my entire face."
They both laughed softly, their admiration spilling into every word, and Fiona felt the faint pressure of fingers touching her arm again, checking veins, adjusting the tape that covered the small wound from earlier. She flinched inwardly, the phantom ache still fresh.
The first nurse lowered her voice, as if sharing a scandal. "By the way, I can't believe this woman is Natasha's sister."
A quiet pause followed, filled only by the soft sound of machines and the cold, indifferent beeping beside Fiona's head.
Then the nurse drawing her blood scoffed under her breath. "Indeed. Look at her. She's so… fat. Completely unbelievable. They don't look related at all."
Their voices carried no malice in tone, just careless honesty, and to be honest she heard that a lot.
Fiona let the words settle painfully into her chest. Even strangers could see it. Even they found it unbelievable that someone like her shared blood with someone like Natasha. Her throat burned with a quiet shame she did not show. She kept her breathing steady, eyes closed, letting their voices wash over her because she had no strength left to react.
The nurses continued their conversation, their admiration for Natasha floating through the air like perfume, soft and sweet, while every word about her own body landed like a bruise Fiona did not deserve but had learned to accept.
Just a little longer, she told herself. Just hold on a little longer.
When the last thing she remembered was the dull ache in her veins and the nurses' muffled voices fading into a blur, Fiona had no idea exactly when her consciousness slipped away. Darkness simply washed over her, gentle at first, then heavy enough to swallow every sound, every thought, every hurt she didn't want to feel.
By the time she woke again, it was already a new day. Soft morning light was leaking through the half closed curtains, warming her cheek in a way that felt strangely tender. Her eyelashes fluttered, her eyes opening slowly to the empty room. No one was waiting for her. Just the quiet sound of machines and the distant echo of footsteps from the corridor.
For a moment, she lay there staring at the cold white ceiling, letting the loneliness settle into her chest with a weight she knew too well. She exhaled softly, almost a whisper. It was alright. She was used to this. She had always woken up alone after illnesses, after accidents, after heartbreaks. Loneliness had never needed a door to enter her life; it had lived beside her from the beginning.
She pushed the sheet aside and slowly sat up, wincing as pain shot through her arm and ribs. Her entire body felt sore, as if she had been drained from the inside and left in pieces that had not quite fit back together. The needle mark throbbed faintly on her skin, and her muscles felt weak, trembling with every small movement.
Still, when she picked up her phone from the side table, a spark lit her tired eyes. Her bachelorette party. Today. The thought pushed everything else pain, weakness, sadness somewhere far into the background. Her heart fluttered in a small burst of excitement. Tonight she would see Jackson again, and just imagining his gentle smile made her forget all the sadness.
Gathering her strength, she stood. Her knees wobbled and she let out a small gasp, gripping the edge of the bed until her balance steadied. The orange dress she had worn yesterday still clung to her body, its sleeves wrinkled, the fabric slightly stretched from her sudden movements. She sighed, brushing it down with trembling hands, wishing she looked a little more like a bride to be and a little less like someone who had passed out in a hospital bed.
She walked toward the door, each step tugging at the soreness in her limbs. Her ward was on one of the common floors plain tiles, ordinary corridors, nurses rushing between rooms. Natasha, of course, was on the VIP floor. White marble. Fresh flowers. Private nurses. And a special wing where only celebrities and high profile patients were allowed.
Dad said it was because Natasha was a celebrity and she was a commoner, and VIP wards were only reserved for big personalities.
Fiona paused for a moment in the hallway, feeling something pinch deep inside her heart.
She took a deep breath and stepped out into the afternoon air.
Calling her driver seemed like the natural thing to do; he always picked up Natasha on time. Maybe today he could pick her up too. But when the call connected, his tone was brisk and apologetic, almost rushed.
"Sorry, Miss Fiona. I'm busy right now."
"Oh. It's okay," she said softly, even though the words pricked a little. She ended the call before he could say more.
She booked a cab instead, clutching her phone as she waited outside the hospital. The breeze felt cool against her warm skin, lifting the loose strands of her hair and brushing them gently across her cheek. For a moment she closed her eyes, letting the air steady her shaky heartbeat.
The cab arrived with a soft honk, and she climbed in carefully, her body still tender and slow. As the city passed by through the window, bright signs, gold sunlight spilling across buildings, people walking busy with their own life.
She was going to the mall to buy a dress for her bachelorette party.
She was going to celebrate her marriage. She was going to see Jackson.
Everything had happened so suddenly that there had been no space to breathe, no time to think, and certainly no time to prepare for something as important as her bachelorette party. She hadn't even had time to buy a dress.
The thought pricked her with a small panic, then softened into quiet hope. She wanted something beautiful, something that made her look less tired and less swollen, something that hid the weight she was so conscious of. Something that made her feel like a bride, like the version of herself she imagined Jackson would be proud to see.