She Rose from the Ashes

The Cure That Wasn't Mine

"If I hadn't come," I rasped, staring at him with all the strength I had left, "would I have died without even knowing why?"

Wynter peeked out from behind him, her tone gentle but her eyes evasive. "Chloe, how could you get out of bed? Didn't the doctor tell you to rest?"

"Rest?" I let out a bitter laugh. "You mean lie there quietly while you hand my medicine to someone else?"

Silas' expression darkened completely. "Chloe Campbell! Watch your tone! Wynter's only worried about you!"

"Worried about me?" I pointed straight at her. "Worried enough to convince you to give my treatment to someone else? Worried enough to suggest I'm faking my illness?"

"I didn't…" Wynter's eyes reddened instantly as she turned to Silas with a trembling voice. "Prof. Stenson, I was only worried you were pushing yourself too hard…"

Silas' voice turned colder. "Look at yourself, Chloe. You're paranoid, irrational! Wynter's been nothing but kind to you, yet you twist everything she says!"

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. "I'm being irrational? Silas, I'm the one lying in that hospital bed waiting to die! I'm the one who's been denied the drug!"

"Enough!" He cut me off sharply. "Do you really think that if you collapse right now, I'll drop everything like before and stay by your side again?"

He stepped closer, his glare searing. "Chloe, how long are you going to keep up this act?"

My whole body trembled; I could barely stand. "You think my critical condition is an act?"

Wynter gently tugged at his sleeve, her voice soft and pleading. "Prof. Stenson, please don't. Chloe might just be scared…"

"She's not scared—she's selfish!" Silas finally exploded, as if all the anger he'd held back for years had found a target. "If it weren't for me, you'd be dead already! You should be grateful you're still alive, not acting like this! Now that we've made progress, Wynter brought in investors, and all you care about is yourself!"

At that, he slipped an arm around Wynter's shoulders, the gesture both possessive and protective. "If Wynter hadn't stood by me, supporting me, I wouldn't have made it this far. And you? What have you ever given me besides using your illness to tie me down?"

I looked at the two of them and suddenly felt like I didn't know him at all. What happened to the boy who had once held my hand and promised, 'I'll save you, no matter what,' ten years ago? When had he turned into this man who used guilt and moral lectures like weapons?

With the last of my strength, I asked quietly, "Silas… would it be better for you if I just died?"

He frowned, his tone impatient. "There you go again—always the same drama. Go back and rest. Stop interfering with my work and Wynter's."

He didn't look at me again. Instead, he turned to Wynter and said softly, "What happened to your hand? Did you bump it just now? Let me see."

That tender tone—I hadn't heard it from him in ten years.

I turned and walked away, and at last, the tears I'd been holding back began to fall.