My Daughter’s Funeral, My Last Goodbye

Camilla's POV

About thirty minutes later, I found myself strapped to a hospital bed, thick restraint bands digging into my wrists. My skin was cold, my mind foggy—but my ears caught every word of the argument happening just outside the door.

Brandon’s voice cut through first, sharp, irritated.

Then came Dr. Nathan Reed, Brandon's childhood friend.

“Brandon, I don’t care if you feel nothing for Camilla anymore,” Nathan snapped. “She carried your children without complaint. She stood by you for six damn years. And now, just because Sabrina’s pregnancy is high-risk, you’re tying Camilla down and forcing her into a uterus transplant? You understand that no matter what happens to Sabrina, Camilla will never be able to have children again.”

“Not having children is just fine. Sounds ideal, doesn’t it?” Brandon’s voice came back flat and emotionless. “Besides, Lyra’s death just proved Camilla was never meant to be a mother. Taking her uterus out ends this little fantasy she keeps clinging to—about giving me another kid. Women like her will do anything for a piece of status. As long as they’ve got food and a roof over their head? They'll follow orders.”

Then I heard footsteps approaching my room. I quickly shut my eyes and forced my body still.

A finger brushed a stray hair off my cheek.

“Camilla,” Brandon murmured, his voice soft. “If you just cooperate and go through with this simple surgery, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

For the first time in our marriage, he truly sounded gentle.

But I didn't flinch. Without glancing at him, I slowly opened my eyes, keeping my focus on Nathan, who stood behind him.

“Dr. Reed,” I said quietly, “please go ahead with the surgery. I’ve got something I need to take care of after.”

Nathan blinked. “Something to take care of?”

Disbelief etched itself into Brandon's face as he turned towards me. His lips parted, his eyes hardening into that familiar, chilling stare, questioning what a woman like me, a housewife, could be up to in the middle of the night.

Before he could say anything, his phone rang.

I recognized the ringtone instantly—Sabrina.

He picked up without hesitation.

"Sabrina, there's no need to be scared," he said gently. “I’m coming right now.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Nathan’s eyes lingered on the door before turning back to me, his expression softening with pity.

“Camilla,” he said quietly, “you still have a choice. It’s not too late.”

I remembered my dad. A decade ago, Brandon paid for his chemotherapy and hospital expenses.

So I gave Nathan a faint smile, shook my head, and said, “I just need one favor from you, Dr. Reed…”

...

Two hours later, the first thing I saw was Brandon, sitting by the bed like he’d been there all night. Judging by his calm, almost satisfied expression, I could tell that Sabrina’s surgery must’ve gone smoothly.

He leaned forward to me and asked, “Camilla, you didn't tell me earlier what you want as a reward."

I blinked slowly, keeping my voice even. “You can peel me an apple.”

That simple, harmless request made him pause, catching him off guard.

He must have thought I was starving because, just minutes later, the room was overflowing with takeout bags from all my favorite restaurants. Back then, Brandon barely ever sat down to eat with me. But now, he was right there at the table, watching, waiting for me to dig in.

But I didn’t touch a thing.

He frowned, set down his utensils. “If none of this is what you want, just tell me. I’ll have someone bring you whatever you’re craving.”

I looked straight at him and said plainly, “It’s fine. I’m not hungry.”

Right then, my phone buzzed.

The number was unknown and did not have a caller ID.

Curious, I got up, stepped into the bathroom, and answered, "Hello?"

The familiar voice on the other end was low, gravelly, and tinged with worry. “Camilla, I just landed at Port City Airport. I don’t see you. Is it because…you still can’t let go of him?”

“No,” I said quickly. “Something came up on the way. I got delayed.”

His voice tightened. “What happened? Are you hurt? Where are you? Just send me your location. I’ll come find you.”

I cut him off gently before he could spiral. “I’ve got it handled. Can you wait for me?”

Without hesitation, he answered, “Of course, I’ll wait.”

And that was all I needed to hear. I lowered my head, pressing my lips together, trying to hold back the smile tugging at the corners.

Then a loud slam startled me. The bathroom door burst open, and Brandon stood in the doorway.

He marched in, his eyes blazing.