Chapter 3 - The Exiles' Return
Reed’s apartment wasn't a sprawling suburban estate with manicured lawns and country club access. It was a converted brick loft on the historic industrial side of the city, featuring exposed beams, high ceilings, and tall windows that let in the amber glow of late afternoon.
As Reed helped me settle onto a deep, comfortable velvet sofa with a stack of pillows and a heavy wool blanket, I looked around at the minimalist, art-filled space.
"It's quiet," I murmured, watching dust motes dance in a shaft of sunlight.
"Too quiet sometimes," Reed said with a small, self-deprecating smile as he walked into the small kitchenette to brew the specialized herbal tea Dr. Lindren had approved. "No society galas, no golf club gossip, no forced smiles for the camera. Just peace and quiet. And a lot of medical grade ECG monitors."
He walked back carrying two mugs, handing me mine with careful attention. Sitting down in the armchair across from me, he let out a long breath that sounded like years of accumulated tension finally leaving his lungs.
"When Dr. Lindren called me last week," Reed began, staring down into his mug, "I didn't believe it at first. I thought it was another trap. Or worse, that you had... well, that the worst had happened."
"She let me flatline for a few seconds on day one," I admitted quietly. "Apparently, my heart decided it had carried enough of their secrets."
Reed’s expression hardened, his jaw clenching. "Mom and Dad called me this morning. Not to check on you. They called to scream at me. Dad threatened to sue me for interference. Said I was manipulating a vulnerable medical patient."
I took a slow sip of the tea, feeling the warmth spread through my chest, counteracting the lingering chill of the hospital ward. "They still think they can bully reality into submission."
"Not anymore," Reed said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "While you were in that hospital room, I consulted with a legal team. That old file Dr. Lindren pulled? It’s not just a medical oversight. It’s gross negligence resulting in severe bodily harm and long-term endangerment of minors. They actively suppressed a life-threatening diagnosis for twenty-five years to protect their social status."
I looked down at my hands. For decades, I had blamed myself. Every time I blacked out, every time my heart fluttered and stalled, I believed my body was betraying me. I thought I was weak. I thought my anxiety was the monster under my bed.
"They didn't just hide it from me," I whispered, the realization hitting me with crushing weight. "They watched me struggle through engineering school, passing out in lecture halls, setting alarms so I wouldn't fall asleep at my drafting desk... and they just watched. Because acknowledging my illness meant admitting they weren't perfect."
"They're narcissists, Flo," Reed said softly, reaching across the space to squeeze my hand. His grip was warm, steady, and entirely free of judgment. "We survived them. That’s the miracle. But we aren't done yet."
"What do you mean?"
Reed’s eyes flashed with a sharp, calculated brilliance that I recognized—it was the same analytical mind I possessed, the engineering instinct to look at a flawed system and figure out exactly where to apply the crowbar.
"Dad’s firm is currently bidding for a massive city infrastructure contract. The Riverfront Revitalization project," Reed said, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Guess who sits on the municipal ethics and structural safety board?"
May you like
My eyes widened slightly. "You?"
"Not officially. But my business partner’s uncle is the head commissioner. And he loves a good audit into corporate ethics, tax fraud, and familial negligence, especially when it involves public safety contractors who fake medical documents to secure clean slates." Reed leaned back, crossing his legs. "They wanted to pretend we don't exist? Fine. Let's see how well their social standing survives a public forensic audit."
