The traffic was a snarl of honking horns and blinding brake lights, a chaotic symphony of urban frustration. Nadia sat rigid in the back of the cab, her fingers twitching nervously on her lap, eyes locked on the blur of the city passing by. Her heart wasn't in her chest—it was in her throat, pounding so hard she could feel each pulse point. She had to clear up the misunderstanding with Bryan. Maybe show him all the evidence and clues of the case she's working on which led her to meet up Jayson in a motel.
"Can you go any faster?" she asked the driver, leaning forward.
The cabbie glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his eyes tired. "Lady, look around. Nobody's going anywhere fast tonight."
She sank back into the seat, checking her watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. The traffic congestion was worse than expected—much worse. The bridge collapse from the heavy rainfall had reduced traffic to a single lane, and the after-work rush was making it even more unbearable.
But before she reached their apartment, the streetlights had flickered on, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. Night had fallen, and with it, her excuses seemed to thin like vapor.
The building loomed before her like it always had, but tonight it felt cold, unfamiliar. Wrong. She hurried past the gate, her heels clicking a desperate rhythm against the marble floor.
As she stepped inside their apartment, fumbling with her keys, she caught sight of him in the living room, dragging her suitcase toward the door. Her clothes spilled from the edges, hastily packed.
"Bryan?" she called, breath catching in her chest. "What are you doing?"
He didn't stop. Didn't look at her. Just pushed the suitcase into the hallway with a decisive shove.
"I'm done, Nadia," he said flatly. "I'm tired of all of it."
She stepped forward, confusion and panic rising like floodwaters. "What are you talking about? We can talk—"
"There's nothing left to talk about." His voice was sharp, bitter as unsweetened coffee. He finally turned to face her, and the coldness in his eyes made her step back. "You think I'm a fool? You sneak off to meet your ex, you come back late like you got no one waiting at home. And now you expect me to pretend like everything's fine?"
"It wasn't like that, Bryan. I was working. I needed the promotion --"
"With Jayson," he cut in. "Your ex. In a motel?."
Nadia wondered how Bryan knew Jayson was her ex? She had mentioned Jayson before, but she had never shown Bryan a picture of him. So how did Bryan recognize him?
She swallowed hard. "It's strictly professional. I should have told you, but—"
"I called your phone, three times Nadia. No answer" His voice dropped lower, somehow more threatening in its quietness. 
Nadia's hands flew through her bag as she searched for her phone. She found it, and her heart sank at the sight of three missed calls from Bryan. She had silenced her phone at work and forgotten to turn it back on, too caught up in verifying the details of her story.
"I'm sorry Bryan, didn't miss them intentionally," she said weakly. 
"I don't care," he snapped, running a hand through his dark hair. "You chose your path. So walk it. I'm not going to be the fool waiting at home while you—" He stopped himself, jaw clenching. "Just go."
"But it's late..." Her voice cracked. "I don't have anywhere to go."
"That's not my problem anymore." His eyes were red-rimmed. Had he been crying? Or was it the alcohol? "You should have thought about that before."
He pushed her outside, slammed the door. 
Nadia stood there, stunned, her suitcase beside her like a stranger's abandoned baggage. The hallway felt impossibly long, the neighbors' doors like sentinels witnessing her shame.
She didn't cry. Not yet. She just turned, dragging the suitcase down the stairs, one step at a time, the wheels catching on each edge. The weight of it wasn't just physical—it was everything. The relationship. The betrayal. The foolish hope that she could balance it all without consequences.
Outside, the air was cold and damp. Her light jacket wasn't enough, but her heavier coats were still inside. With Bryan. Her mind spun in circles but settled on one place, the only refuge that made sense in this moment of untethering.
The hospital where her mother was.
She didn't think. She flagged another cab, the driver eyeing her suitcase skeptically.
"Unity hospital," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
The cab pulled away from the curb, and she watched her building disappear around the corner. Two years of her life, condensed into a suitcase and a hasty exit. She stared at her reflection in the window, a ghost superimposed over the city lights. Who was she now? The ambitious journalist? The failed girlfriend? The dutiful daughter? All those roles seemed to be crumbling simultaneously.
Unity hospital was quiet by the time she arrived, the main entrance dimmed for the night shift. Past visiting hours. The fluorescent lights buzzed low, and the night nurse raised a brow as Nadia walked in with a suitcase, her makeup slightly smudged, hair coming loose from its careful styling.
"I just need to stay with my mom," she whispered, voice cracking. "Please. Just tonight."
The nurse—her badge read "Helen"—hesitated, then nodded slowly. Her eyes softened with something like recognition. Not the first time someone's world had fallen apart in these hallways.
"She's asleep," she said softly. "You can take the chair. Don't disturb her."
Nadia nodded, grateful, and slipped into the room, marked 312 in pragmatic hospital font.
Her mother, lay motionless, frail beneath thin hospital sheets. Machines beeped steadily in the background, monitoring vital signs that seemed both reassuring and precarious. The cardiomyopathy had come without warning, leaving the once-vibrant woman silent and still. The doctors do not speak of recovery but rather management.
Nadia set her suitcase in the corner and pulled the vinyl chair close to the bed. She took her mother's hand, feeling the dry, soft skin beneath her fingers, tracing the prominent veins and age spots.
"I promised to visit, but I'm sorry for coming late. I thought I had it figured out," she whispered. "But I don't know anything anymore."
No response. Just the steady rhythm of her mother's breathing and the monotonous beep of the heart monitor.
"Bryan threw me out," she continued, her voice barely audible. "He thinks... well, he's not entirely wrong. I didn't cheat, but I didn't tell him the truth either. Jayson is back, and I—" She stopped, unable to articulate the complicated tangle of emotions that had ensnared her. "I messed up, Mom. I really messed up."
Her mother's fingers remained limp in hers, but Nadia squeezed gently, imagining what she would say if she could speak. Probably something no-nonsense and direct, cutting through Nadia's self-pity with practical wisdom.
"Remember when Dad left?" Nadia whispered. "You told me that sometimes people walk away, but that doesn't mean we stop walking forward. But can I really be able to walk forward?" She laughed softly, the sound catching in her throat. 
That's when the tears came.
Not loud. Not messy. Just silent sobs in the quiet dark, her shoulders shaking as she leaned forward, forehead pressed to their joined hands. The tears fell onto the hospital blanket, creating small dark circles that expanded and faded.
"I don't know what to do next," she admitted, wiping her eyes with her free hand. "The promotion I wanted... The story I submitted....I have not heard anything about it yet. Would I get it or not? I don't know anymore mom."
Through the window, she could see the city lights twinkling against the night sky. Somewhere out there was her apartment, Bryan, her office, all the pieces of her life now scattered and displaced.
She had no home. Not sure of promotion. No peace.
But she still had this moment. Her mother. Her breath. Her warmth.
And slowly, as the night deepened and her tears subsided, she felt something else. The fire quietly reigniting inside her chest. Determination. Resolve. The knowledge that tomorrow would come, and with it, choices. New paths.
"I'll figure it out," she promised, both to her mother and herself. "I always do."
As if in response, her mother's fingers twitched slightly against hers. Probably just a reflex, the doctors would say. But Nadia chose to take it as agreement.
She settled back in the chair, still holding her mother's hand, and let the rhythmic beeping of the machines lull her toward an uneasy sleep. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges. Tonight, this was enough.