Chapter 2: Back Where I Belong
Erin's POV
Three days in this sterile hospital room, and I was going stir-crazy. But it wasn't boredom gnawing at me—it was the fever spiking every night, leaving me drenched in sweat and wide awake at midnight.
That's when the dark thoughts crept in, the ones I buried during visiting hours when those two assholes played the caring friends.
Tonight was no exception. My temp hit 102°F, and the nurses loaded me up with meds that blurred everything. But my phone screen stayed sharp as I opened Instagram.
Claire's latest post: a close-up of her perfectly manicured hand flashing a diamond ring I'd never seen. The caption twisted my gut:
"Sometimes when one person steps aside, three people find freedom ✨ #NewBeginnings #LoveWins #Blessed"
Comments were pouring in: "OMG gorgeous ring!" "About time!" "You two are perfect together!"
I scrolled to more pics—Noah and Claire at some fancy spot, him on one knee, her with that fake surprised face. Timestamp: just hours ago.
While I lay here fighting for my life.
My hands shook as I kept swiping. Photo after photo of their "romantic engagement dinner," her flaunting the ring to friends, him looking relieved, like he'd finally manned up.
Manned up. What a joke.
I wanted to hurl the phone, but a cold clarity cut through the haze.
"You're so predictable, Noah," I whispered to the empty room. "Weak. Always taking the easy way out."
He'd probably convinced himself this was noble—marrying Claire while I was "sick" and "couldn't remember" our relationship. In his twisted head, he was doing me a favor. A clean slate.
But I knew him better. Noah Reid, the ultimate people-pleaser who'd rather drag out the pain than look like the bad guy. He'd strung me along for ten years because breaking up took guts.
"I get you, you pathetic piece of shit," I muttered, screenshotting every post. "Better than you get yourself."
The fever broke at dawn, leaving me clearheaded for the first time since the accident. And with that came a decision that even surprised me.
I was going to destroy him.
The next evening, after the nurse finished rounds, I grabbed a cab from the hospital entrance and gave the driver the address that had been my home for years.
By eight, I was sitting in the dark living room of what used to be ours.
The place looked different—Claire's tacky throw pillows everywhere, her pretentious coffee table books, her organic skincare cluttering the bathroom. She'd moved in quick, staking her claim.
But underneath, it was still the home I'd built. The kitchen where I'd learned to make Noah's favorites. The bedroom where I'd folded his laundry every Sunday while he watched football. The balcony where I'd watered the plants he always forgot.
The key turned in the lock at ten.
"—should still check on her," Noah was saying as they walked in. "What if she had another episode?"
"Baby, she's fine. Stop being so paranoid." Claire's voice was slightly slurred.
Noah dropped his keys with that familiar clink, and Claire kicked off her heels with a sigh.
"God, I needed that wine," she said. "This week's been a total nightmare."
Nightmare for you? Try having your life blow up and your best friend steal your man.
The light flicked on, and they froze.
I was on the couch in my pajamas, legs tucked under me, looking innocent as hell.
"Oh!" Claire gasped, hand to her chest. "Erin! You scared us. What are you doing here?"
I blinked slowly, like I'd just woken up. "Sorry. I was watching TV but must've dozed off. Needed some fresh air, you know? Hospital room's driving me nuts. I'll head back tomorrow. Mind if I crash here tonight?"
"Of course!" Noah stepped forward, brow furrowed. "How're you feeling? Any headaches?"
"Nah, I'm good." I stretched, letting my shirt ride up a bit. Old habits die hard. "This place feels... familiar. Like I've been here before."
Claire and Noah swapped a quick glance.
"Well, you have," Claire said carefully. "You've visited tons."
"Visited." I echoed thoughtfully. "But it feels like more. Like..." I got up, wandering to the kitchen. "Like I picked out these bar stools. And that artwork."
"You've got great taste," Claire said with a tight smile. "I always asked your opinion when decorating."
Such bullshit. I'd bought half this stuff on my own dime.
"That's sweet," I said, tracing the marble countertop I'd chosen. "Weird though. I keep getting these flashes, like déjà vu. Like the universe is saying I belong here."
Noah paled. "Belong here?"
"Yeah." I turned to them, head tilted. "Isn't that strange? Feels like... home."
Claire forced a laugh. "You've always been welcome! You practically live here with how often you drop by."
"That's so nice of you guys," I said warmly. "Must be awesome living together. How long's it been?"
Another look between them.
"About..." Noah started.
"Six months," Claire cut in. "Wanted to test compatibility before..." She waggled her left hand, flashing the ring.
I gasped, grabbing her hand. "Oh my God! Is this new? It's gorgeous!"
Claire beamed, eating up the attention. "Just yesterday! Noah proposed to me."
"That's amazing!" I gushed, inspecting it. "Noah, you've got killer taste."
He looked like he might puke. "Thanks," he mumbled.
"I'm starving," I said suddenly. "Noah, mind whipping something up? I feel like... I remember you being an awesome cook."
True enough—he used to make me meals every Sunday, back when he cared.
"Uh, it's kinda late—" he hedged.
"Please?" I hit him with puppy eyes. "Still weak from the accident, and hospital food sucks. Bet you make killer grilled cheese."
"He does," Claire said, though she looked pissed. "Noah's grilled cheese is legendary."
"Perfect!" I clapped.
Noah moved around the kitchen like it was booby-trapped. Every time he grabbed butter or cheese, I was there—brushing past for water or checking the microwave.
"Oops, sorry," I said after the third bump, my hand grazing his arm. "Still clumsy post-accident."
Claire watched from the breakfast bar, jaw clenched tighter each time.
"Need help?" she offered, voice clipped.
"Nah," Noah said quickly. "Almost done."
But his hands shook flipping the sandwich. When I leaned over his shoulder to peek, he flinched.
"Smells amazing," I murmured, close enough for my breath to tickle his ear.
"Thanks," he croaked.
The sandwich was perfect—golden, cheese oozing.
I took a bite, eyes closing with a soft moan. "Oh man, this is incredible. Feels like I've had this exact one before."
"You probably have," Claire said sharply. "Noah makes 'em all the time."
"Lucky you," I smiled brightly. "Having someone who takes such good care of you."
I ate slowly, chatting about how cozy the place was, how thoughtful they were, how grateful I felt for their friendship.
By the time I headed to bed, the tension was electric.
"Night, you two," I called from the hall. "Thanks for everything. You're the best."
I shut the guest room door and pressed my ear to it.
Silence, then Claire's low, furious voice: "What the fuck was that?"
"What was what?" Noah shot back, defensive.
"Don't play dumb. All that touching and brushing up against you—"
"She has brain damage, Claire. She doesn't remember—"
"Bullshit! I saw how she was looking at you. And how you were looking at her."
A glass slammed down, shattering with Claire's muffled curse.
Footsteps stomped upstairs, followed by the master bedroom door slamming.
