Erica's fingers trembled as she unlocked her phone. The soft light from the screen felt jarring in the dim hospital room. One unread message waited for her.
"Hey, I'm really sorry, but I won't be able to make it today. Something came up. I'll make it up to you, I swear."
The message had come after she was already gone.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart felt like it had cracked open. If he had been there... would it still have happened?
A soft knock interrupted her spiral. She looked up as the door opened.
It was Max.
His eyes were wide and bloodshot, his hair a mess, his body stiff like he hadn't slept in days. When he saw her, his whole face crumbled. He stepped inside like he was walking through a nightmare.
He moved toward her bed, his steps shaky, and when he reached her side, his knees buckled. He fell to the floor beside her, head bowed, his hands covering his face.
"I'm so sorry," he choked, barely able to speak. "Erica, I should've been there. If I'd just come-if I hadn't-"
She reached for his hand, her own barely strong enough to hold. "It's not your fault, Max," she said softly, her voice raw. "You didn't know. None of us did."
His eyes met hers, and they were full of guilt. "But I should've. I was supposed to meet you. If I had, maybe this-" He couldn't even finish the sentence. He just shook his head, breaking again.
Erica wiped away his tears with shaking fingers. "You're here now," she whispered. "That's enough."
Before either could say more, the door opened again.
Her parents stepped in.
Her mother gasped when she saw Erica-bandaged, pale, broken. Her father froze. Their expressions said everything: grief, fear... shame.
Max stood quickly, stepping away from the bed, silent, unnoticed. Erica's parents didn't know who he was, and in their storm of emotion, they didn't even ask.
Her mother rushed to her, tears pouring. "Erica... my God. What did you do?"
Her father's face was rigid, his voice colder than the room. "What were you doing out there alone? Why didn't you tell us where you were going? Do you realize what you've done to yourself?"
Erica blinked at them. "I didn't do anything," she said, voice weak but firm. "Something was done to me."
Her mother sobbed harder. "How do we fix this? How do we explain this to people?"
"Explain?" Erica echoed, confused.
Her father stepped forward. "You don't get it. We can't let anyone find out. This... this could ruin everything. Our name. Our family. Do you understand what people will say when they hear about this?"
The words stung more than anything else.
"You're thinking about people?" she whispered. "After what happened to me?"
"You're still young. You don't know how cruel the world is," her father snapped. "This isn't just about you. It's about all of us. This family."
Erica's fists clenched over the blanket. "I want to find out who did this. I want to know who hurt me."
"No." His voice was final. "You'll rest. You'll stay quiet. No police. No investigations. You'll come home and we'll move on. End of discussion."
Max watched, frozen in the corner, pain etched across his face. Erica's mother nodded tearfully. "We'll take care of you. But we have to be smart, baby. We have to think about the bigger picture."
Erica's eyes burned with hot, silent rage. "I am the picture," she said, voice shaking. "And you're trying to paint over me."
But they didn't hear her.
After her discharge, her parents took her home. They closed the doors. Drew the curtains. Locked the world out - and locked her in.
Erica stared at the ceiling night after night, hollowed by pain and by the truth: they weren't protecting her. They were protecting themselves.
And the worst part was... whoever did this was still out there.