Page 47 of Filthy Lies

She doesn’t stir.

I slip out of the room, but I pause at the end of the hallway. I don’t know what to feel. Angry? Sad? Hopeful? Something else, something new? I’m not sure.

What I do know is that I’m done running. Done hiding. Done living in reaction to secrets others have kept from me.

It’s time to write my own story—for myself, for Sofiya, for the family I’ve built with Vince.

Starting with meeting my father.

I step into the hallway, already composing the argument I’ll make to convince Vince?—

And freeze.

Standing ten feet away, clutching a bouquet of yellow daisies—my mother’s favorites—is Natalie.

Our eyes lock. The daisies tremble in her grip.

“Hi, Row.”

20

ROWAN

My feet root to the hospital linoleum.

“Natalie.”

She stands frozen, clutching those yellow daisies—my mother’s favorites. Her hair is longer than I remember, tied back in a messy ponytail. Dark circles shadow her eyes.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” she says softly. “I was just bringing these for your mom. The nurses told me she’s not doing well.”

The normalcy of her tone makes my blood boil. Like we’re still friends. Like she didn’t spend years lying to my face.

“How thoughtful,” I reply, my voice arctic. “Spying on my dying mother now?”

Natalie winces. “I deserve that.”

“You deserve a hell of a lot worse.”

A nurse passes, glancing curiously at us. I step closer to Natalie, lowering my voice.

“What are you doing here, Nat? Really?”

She shifts her weight, eyes downcast. “I’ve been visiting Margaret every couple of weeks. Since before… everything happened.”

“You’ve been visiting my mother?” The betrayal somehow cuts deeper. “Without telling me?”

“She was kind to me when my own mom died, Row. I couldn’t just abandon her because…”

“Because you were exposed as a paid informant?” I finish for her. “Because your entire friendship with me was a lie?”

“Not all of it,” she whispers.

An orderly pushes an empty gurney past us. The squeak of its wheels against the floor sounds unnaturally loud in the charged silence.

“Let’s not do this here,” I say finally. I nod toward a small waiting area down the hall. It’s empty, with uncomfortable-looking chairs and a dead plant in the corner.

Natalie follows me, still clutching those stupid daisies like a lifeline. We sit opposite each other, eyes not quite meeting.

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