Chapter 1: I'll Be Right There
Maya's POV
The hospital hallway is freezing.
I'm on my knees outside the ICU, phone screen blurring through tears. Seventh time calling Adrian. This time he picks up.
"Adrian, please." My voice is shaking. "Dad's dying. He wants to see you. He wants one last family photo. That's all he's asking."
"Maya, baby, I know." He sounds breathless, wind cutting through the line. "I'm on my way, I promise. I just wrapped a shoot. Heading to the hospital right now."
"Do you remember which hospital?"
A beat of silence.
"Of course. Presbyterian, right? Your dad's gonna be fine. Twenty minutes, I'll be there."
He hangs up.
I wipe my face, force myself to breathe, and push open the ICU door.
Dad's in the bed, oxygen mask making his face look paper-thin. But when he sees me, his eyes still light up. He lifts one trembling hand, pointing to the old Polaroid camera on the nightstand, the one he used to capture every family moment back when I was a kid.
"Adrian's coming," I say, taking his hand. "He'll be here soon. We'll wait, okay?"
Dad nods. His mouth pulls into a weak smile.
Twenty minutes go by.
An hour.
Two hours.
I call Adrian twelve more times. Voicemail, every single one.
When the nurse comes to check the monitors, she gives me this look. Pure pity. "Your husband's not here yet?"
I shake my head. Can't get words out past the tightness in my throat.
Forty minutes later, Dad's breathing turns ragged. The doctor rushes in. I'm shoved to the side. The machines start screaming.
Dad's eyes stay fixed on the door in those final moments.
Waiting for someone who never shows.
The death certificate says 5:47 PM.
I sign papers on autopilot. Call the funeral home. Start making calls to relatives. That's when Mom's friend Margaret approaches, holding out her phone like it might explode.
"Honey, I don't know if I should show you this, but..."
Instagram. Adrian's account.
Posted an hour ago. 5:15 PM. The exact time Dad's monitors started to fail.
The photo shows Sienna in a white dress at the Golden Gate Bridge overlook, sunset painting gold around her edges. She's looking back over her shoulder, that perfect smile she does. Magazine cover perfect.
The caption reads: "Capturing perfection. Magic hour never disappoints. @SiennaBlake #GoldenGateSunset #PhotographerLife"
Comments flood below.
"Stunning work Adrian!"
"Sienna you look amazing!"
"This is why you're the best."
I zoom in on the background. Adrian's shadow is right there, crouched low with his camera, adjusting angles like he's crafting something holy.
That exact moment, my father was fighting for breath in a hospital bed.
That exact moment, I was on my knees in this hallway, begging Adrian to come.
And he was thirty miles away, chasing the perfect light.
I hand the phone back to Margaret. The strange part is I'm not crying anymore.
Just this hollow calm spreading through me.
"Thanks for showing me."
Something shatters inside my chest right then. Or maybe it's been shattered all along, and I'm only just now feeling the pieces.
The funeral's three days later.
When Adrian finally comes home, he pulls me into this desperate hug. "Baby, I'm so sorry. Phone died, I completely lost track of time. By the time I figured it out..."
"It's fine." My voice comes out flat. "What's done is done."
"I really am sorry." Another apology, like they mean anything. "Your dad... he must've been so disappointed."
"He died looking at the door. Waiting for you."
Adrian's face spasms. "Maya, I..."
"I said it's fine."
I turn away to finish the funeral arrangements.
Funeral day arrives. Service starts at ten. By nine-thirty, the chapel's almost full.
Everyone except Adrian.
Ten o'clock, the pastor looks at me. "Should we begin?"
"Just a few more minutes. My husband will be here soon."
Ten-fifteen passes.
Ten-thirty.
Eleven.
Whispers ripple through the pews. Mom's expression is getting harder and harder to look at.
Eleven forty-five. Adrian crashes through the doors, suit wrinkled, tie hanging crooked.
"Sorry, sorry." He's panting as he slides into the seat beside me. "Lost track again, I..."
Something drops from his pocket when he sits.
A photo.
I lean down and pick it up.
Sienna's sitting in a coffee shop, bright smile caught mid-laugh. Adrian's handwriting scrawled on the white border: "S. - 3/15 - Morning light."
Today is March 15th.
This morning.
The morning of my father's funeral.
I hold the photo, and everything just clicks. All at once. Every piece falling into perfect, horrible clarity.
All the broken promises.
All the convenient excuses.
All the times he said "I forgot."
I hand the photo back to Adrian. Watch panic flash across his face as he shoves it back in his pocket.
The pastor begins the eulogy.
I don't hear a single word.
Because I finally see it. Crystal clear.
Five years. I've spent five years living inside a lie.
And I'm done believing it.
