Page 116 of Infamous
It’s late when I go back into her room.
The nurses lower their eyes as I pass, like they know something I don’t want to admit.
She’s awake, but barely there. Her eyes are sunken, ringed with exhaustion and something worse - grief that doesn’t end. Her voice is raw, scraped thin from crying. Between the slow, brutal process of weaning her off the drugs and the weight of what she’s done to her body, she’s unraveling in pieces. It’s not loud or sudden - it’s quiet, steady, a kind of dying that happens in degrees. And I can’t stand to watch it.
When she sees me, there’s that flicker of relief - and then suspicion. Like she already senses the betrayal crawling under my skin.
“Hey,” I whisper, sitting on the edge of the bed. “How’s the pain?”
She laughs, hoarse and ugly. “Which one?”
I don’t answer. She knows.
“I spoke to Mason,” I say carefully. “He found a clinic -”
Her head snaps up. “No.”
“They can help you -”
“I said no!” Her voice cracks, sharp as glass. “You think I don’t know what that means? You’re sending me away.”
“It’s not like that.”
She grips the blanket, knuckles white. “It’s exactly like that! You think I’m crazy and weak. What sort of a woman cuts open her own womb, right?”
“Nadia -”
“Don’t!” she screams. The IV pulls taut with the motion. “Don’t you dare say my name like it means anything to you, Jude!”
The sound of her rage is worse than silence. It’s the sound of a heart breaking under its own weight.
I stand, jaw clenched, forcing the words out. “You’re not safe here. You need help, and I can’t -”
My throat closes. “I can’t give you what you need right now.”
Her voice shakes. “You already did. You gave me you. And now you want to undo everything?”
I look at her - this woman made of scars and fire, trembling under hospital lights - and I swear I’ve never hated myself more.
“I’m not undoing anything, Nadia,” I whisper. “It’s the only mercy I can give you.”
She lets out a bitter laugh. “You don’t know the first thing about mercy, Jude. If you did, you wouldn’t be doing this.”
Her words land like a blade between my ribs. I move closer, but she flinches away like I’m the monster she thought she’d escaped.
I force myself to stop. My hands hang uselessly at my sides.
“I’m doing this for your own good,” I say quietly. “You need time and care to heal from this.”
Her tears come fast now, her voice small. “I trusted you.”
“I know.”
“You said you’d never leave me.”
“I didn’t.” My voice cracks. “You’re leaving me.”
That’s when she breaks.
