“Mom!”

The familiar voice cut through the storm. Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me close, shielding me from the pounding rain. I felt the sudden shift of air as he held something above us—an umbrella, maybe, though I could not see it. All I knew was the warmth of his embrace and the relief of a voice that still called me mother.

“Why are you out here? It’s pouring!” Sebastian’s voice was bright with concern, the kind I had been starving for inside that cold mansion. His hug was firm, almost desperate, as if afraid I might vanish if he let go.

For the first time in days, my trembling eased. “Sebastian…” My lips quivered.

Sebastian. My son. Emily’s twin brother.

Where Emily had stayed glued to her father’s side, dressed in silks and pearls, groomed to inherit Carlisle’s world, Sebastian had always been different. He was reckless, wild, the boy who came home with bruises and busted lips from street fights. Carlisle despised him for it. I still remembered the day Carlisle expelled him from that prestigious boarding school with dormitories, saying he wasn’t worth the Huxley name.

But he was worth everything to me.

“Come on, Mom. Let’s get you out of the rain.” He tucked me against him, guiding me carefully down the slippery street. His grip was strong, steady. My hand brushed against the cold handle of the suitcase, and he carried it for me without a word.

He led me into a coffee shop, its door creaking as warmth wrapped around me. The hum of chatter, clinking cups, and the sharp aroma of roasted beans greeted us. He found us a corner seat and ordered something—I could smell the bitter steam of coffee when it arrived.

“Why would you wander outside in the rain like that?” Sebastian’s voice was edged with worry as he pushed the warm cup toward me. “You’ll get sick, Mom.”

I cupped the mug, letting the heat seep into my frozen fingers. For the first time in so long, I felt cared for. “I… I didn’t know where else to go.”

He sighed. Then, hesitantly, he cleared his throat. “Oh, by the way, Mom… could you give me my allowance in advance this week? Dad finally went insane—he even cut off my credit card. I’m stuck.”

My chest tightened. “Sebastian…” I hesitated. “I do have some money, but we should budget carefully. Things aren’t the same anymore.”

He waved off my worry, his tone light. “Don’t stress, Mom. Maybe next month he’ll restore it. It’s just temporary.”

I forced a smile, but unease gnawed at me.

Then his voice shifted, curious. “By the way, why do you have a suitcase with you? Are you going somewhere?”

The warmth of the mug turned heavy in my hands. “I… was kicked out of the house.”

Sebastian chuckled faintly. “What, another one of Dad’s phases?”

I shook my head. My throat tightened until the words scraped out, raw and painful. “No. We’re divorced now, Sebastian.”

Silence. Then a sharp intake of breath. “W-What…?”

“And your father…” I steadied myself, though my voice cracked. “He’s getting remarried. Soon.”

I waited for comfort, for the embrace of my son. Instead, his voice exploded across the table. “No! What about my money then?!”

The words stabbed me, sharper than any knife.

“Mom, you can’t just accept this! You should beg! Do something!”

“B-Beg...?” My voice trembled, the anger rising with my grief. “How many times do you want me to beg, Sebastian? I begged your father, his parents, even you children. I’m so tired already!”

But he didn’t stop. His voice turned desperate, urgent. “I don’t care. Mom, I need money! My life depends on it! I’m begging you—just this once—”

“Enough!” My palm slammed against the table, rattling the cup. My whole body shook. “Get out!”

“Mom—”

“I said get the hell out!” Tears streamed down my face. “I thought you were different, Sebastian. I was the only one on your side. I helped you when no one else would. I believed in you… But I overestimated you. You’re just like the rest of them.”

His voice cracked, small. “M-Mom—”

“I don’t want to hear you anymore. Leave me alone.”

A cough ripped through me, shaking my chest. He reached to steady me, but I slapped his hand away.

“Go. While I still have an ounce of patience left.”

For the first time, Sebastian was silent. Truly silent.

Then his footsteps faded, and I was alone again.

I left the café, dragging my suitcase behind me. The world outside blurred in rain and grief. My chest felt torn open, every step heavier than the last. I had no strength left.

What had I expected from Sebastian? He was still Carlisle’s son. A Huxley by blood.

I stumbled across the street, deaf to the blaring horns. Tires screeched, voices cursed, but I barely flinched. My body moved on its own, numb and broken.

Until suddenly, my fingers brushed emptiness.

The ground beneath me shifted—the edge of a bridge. My palms gripped the cold metal rail, slick with rain. I leaned forward. The void called to me, a dark whisper.

Maybe it would be easier.

Maybe the world would be better without me.

Then—hands seized me, dragging me back.

“Are you insane?!” a man’s voice shouted.

I let out a broken laugh, my lips trembling. “I wish I were.”

I struggled against his grip, my suitcase slipping from my fingers. “Let me go. I don’t want to live anymore. I have nothing left.”

“There’s so much left in life, lady,” he said firmly, breathless from holding me.

“Fuck that life,” I spat, my voice breaking. “There’s no life for blind people like me!”

Desperation surged. I bit his arm, hard, tasting blood. His grip faltered. I tore free, stumbling toward the edge.

But before I could take another step, something slammed against the back of my neck. A sharp blow.

“I’m sorry… but I can’t let you do this.”

Pain flared—then nothing.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

I woke to a voice. Low. Smooth. Dripping with foreign warmth.

“Por fin despiertas, mi amor.”

My breath hitched. Mi amor??

It was a Spanish word I’d only ever heard on TV. It meant my love.

Where the hell was I? And why was I hearing Spanish?

And more importantly, why was someone calling me my love?

I woke to the sound of waves and the soft crackle of a fire. For a second I couldn't place where I was. My head felt like it had been wrapped in cotton, every thought slow and fuzzy.

"Mi amor. My wife... You came back to me."

"Who are you?" I croaked.

There was a pause. "Luciana." He said it like a prayer. "Luciana, you came back."

My hands flew to my face. "No. My name is Emma.”

He went very still. I could hear him step back, like someone who had seen a mirror where there should be a wall. Then he murmured, "Emma? I'm so sorry. I thought— uh… My name is Alejandro de Vega," he said, and his voice was careful, "I live here. I found you on the bridge. I... I couldn't leave you there."

"You called me Luciana," I said, and the name felt like a stone sinking in my chest.

Alejandro swallowed. "Luciana… Luciana was my wife. She died two years ago. A car explosion. She looked like you…”

Images flickered: rain, a bridge, hands that weren't mine.

"You shouldn't have saved me.”

"I couldn't let you die. Please, stay. Just for now. Stay until you remember how to live again. I will keep you safe."

I tried to stand and my knees buckled. My vision tunneled and the room folded. The last thing I heard before everything went black again was Alejandro saying, "It's okay. It's okay. You're safe."

When I came back, the smell of sea salt was stronger. Then the door opened.

"I'm Dr. Aljun," he said. "I'm Alejandro's brother. I'm an eye surgeon. You were found unconscious. We were worried about your lungs, but your eyes... your eyes are what brought me running."

I tried to laugh, but it sounded like someone else's dry rustle. "The hospitals told me I would never see again," I said. The memory of sterile rooms and bright lamps and doctors apologizing was thick.

I had gone to so many surgeons. Each time, hope had been a guest that left as quickly as it arrived. I remembered a time on an operating table, the bright white of the lights, the cold of the sheet, the donor who stepped away at the last minute. I had told myself it was bad luck. Sometimes I had whispered, maybe my husband was the one who stopped it. The thought had the bitter taste of truth, and I flinched at it.

Dr. Aljun leaned forward, his fingers steepled. "You have been through a lot. We ran tests. There is damage, yes. But it is not the end. There is a chance to restore your sight. There is a donor."

The word landed and my chest clenched so hard air left me for a moment. "A donor? Who would... who would give their eyes?"

Alejandro answered before Dr. Aljun could. "An inmate came forward last night. He offered his organs. He asked that his donation mean something. He asked that someone see again. His name isn't important. What matters is that he wanted to help."

I stared at him. The world felt dizzy and unreal. There had been a thousand times I had thought the universe owed me nothing, had accepted being invisible. Now someone had given, and the idea of accepting help felt complicated and strange.

Dr. Aljun's voice softened. "The operation is risky. There is no absolute guarantee. But medically, your eyes can be fixed. We can try. You will need strength. You will need rest. Do you want to try?"

I thought of Selene. I thought of the carriage of memory that had carried me through the last years, full of apologies I had given myself, full of questions I had swallowed. I thought of the man who had shoved divorce papers into my hand like a verdict. I thought of Cosette laughing under her breath. I thought of a life that had been narrowed until only air came through.

"Yes," I said finally. "Do it."

The operation blurred into itself. There were the bright lights, the sterile scent, the hiss of machines. Then there was waiting. The recovery room was a place where time moved like molasses, thick and slow.

When they took the bandages off, the world was a watercolor that someone had let water run through. I blinked and blinked until the room sharpened, not all at once but in slices, like a painting being revealed panel by panel.

Then I saw my own hands. I brought them to my face and gasped because I could finally look. My reflection in the window was a quiet woman with tired eyes and lines.

Tears came so fast my vision blurred with them. I laughed, a sound that was half-sob. "Oh my… I can finally see.”

"You are brave." Aljun said.

“How… how can I repay—”

"You can thank my brother Alejandro by staying," he said, "Stay until he can finally move on. I know how strange it sounds. But my brother almost killed herself that night too, when Luciana died… Stay until he's... until he's not haunted by her anymore. No strings. When you are ready to go, you go. You will have our help, and that is all I ask."

I looked at Alejandro. In his face there were lines that grief had cut into the same shape as regret. I thought about walking out the door and never looking back. I thought about how many times people had left me. I thought about how different this felt from being shoved out into the rain.

"Can I ask you something?" I said, my voice small but steady.

Alejandro nodded.

"Can I get revenge?" The question dropped into the room like a stone that made ripples in every direction.

Alejandro did not look surprised. Instead, he folded his hands and smiled, slow and dangerous at the edges. "Yes.”