My Great Escape Led Me to You (Emily Blair) novel Chapter 117

Bundled up in a thick coat, Emily Blair sat slumped on the hospital bench, leaning back wearily. Her left hand rested limply on the armrest, a slender wrist pale against the harsh fluorescent lights, an IV needle taped to the back of her hand.

Her mother, Emma George, bustled anxiously around her, offering sips of water, smoothing her hair, fussing over every little detail.

“Mom, take a break. Please,” Emily rasped, her voice rough with fever.

Emma grasped Emily’s free hand, rubbing it between her own as if she could warm away all the pain, her eyes clouded with worry.

When the IV bag finally emptied and Emily blinked her eyes open, her mother was nowhere to be seen—disappeared on some errand, perhaps, but gone all the same.

She called for a nurse to change the drip, then awkwardly pushed the IV pole out into the hall in search of a restroom.

This wing of the hospital was reserved for flu patients, and with the recent outbreak, the place was packed. Every bench was occupied, and a line snaked out of the restroom door.

Sighing, Emily steered her IV pole down the corridor in search of another bathroom. But every floor she tried had the same long queue.

After a couple of failed attempts, she finally spotted an empty restroom at the far end of a different hallway. Relieved, she hurried toward it—but just as she reached the door, her shoelace came undone, trailing messily along the floor. She stepped on it and, combined with the weakness in her legs from spending hours on her knees the night before, nearly toppled over.

She caught herself just in time, bracing a palm against the wall.

Still feverish, her head spun and her stomach churned. She stood there for a long moment, eyes closed, waiting for the nausea and dizziness to subside.

When she finally opened her eyes, she stared down at the loose shoelace, frustration creasing her brow.

With an IV needle in one hand, only her right was free—a clumsy, losing battle to retie her shoe. She tried to shove the laces inside, just enough to keep them from tripping her up.

Emily’s fingers were still wedged awkwardly in her shoe, trying to stuff the laces out of sight. No matter how many times she tried, the stubborn laces slipped out again, trailing across the floor—a futile, endless struggle.

She tried over and over, growing more frustrated and helpless with each attempt.

Andrew and Isabella watched her silently, their gazes polite but, to Emily, cutting and cold. They looked every bit the golden couple—both dressed impeccably in designer clothes, posture perfect, radiating an effortless grace that seemed to light up the sterile hallway. Anyone who saw them would think they’d stepped straight out of a fairytale.

And then there was Emily: feverish, unwashed, hair a tangled mess piled carelessly on her head, wearing yesterday’s wrinkled clothes. She’d barely managed to drag herself out of bed to the hospital this morning.

Compared to them, she felt utterly invisible—just a forgettable extra in the story of their lives.

Embarrassment burned her cheeks. No one had slapped her, but she felt the sting anyway—a hot, humiliating flush she couldn’t hide.