Description
The hospital smelled like antiseptic-clean, sharp, and suffocating Sylvia sat beside her father's bed, watching the rhythmic beeping of the monitors, feeling the weight of the moment pressing into her chest. She had spent months trying to find another way. Working extra shifts, negotiating with insurance companies, fighting against the inevitable. But the truth was cruel and unchanging-she couldn't afford to save him. Not on an officer's salary. Not in time. He stirred slightly, his breath raspy. When he opened his eyes, they were weaker than before, but still familiar. "You're working late," he murmured. Sylvia swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing a smile. "I need to leave for a while," she said carefully. His eyes studied her not questioning, just understanding. "Work?" She nodded. "I won't be able to call or visit." The words felt heavier than they should. **She was saying goodbye without saying it outright.** Her father sighed, his fingers curling weakly around hers. "Then I won't ask questions," he said softly. "Just come back safe." Sylvia forced herself to nod, even though the uncertainty clawed at her. Because tomorrow, she would no longer be Sylvia Rosewood. Tomorrow, she would become Valeria Cross-a woman with no attachments, no past, no identity beyond what the department had created for her. Tomorrow, she would step into Ethan Hawthorne's world. And once she did, there was no turning back.
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