When my eyes locked with Damian’s in the oncology ward, we both froze. For me, it was the sheer, jarring shock of running into my ex-husband in a place like this after five years of total silence. For Damian, however, the look on his face suggested he’d jumped to a very different conclusion. He frowned, his hand shooting out to grip my arm with a familiarity that made my skin crawl. “Are you sick too? How bad is it? Do you need me to call in some favors with the specialists here?” He looked genuinely concerned. It was a masterful performance. He looked like a man who hadn’t been caught red-handed in an affair five years ago—a man who hadn’t stood by with a shrug while my world burned to the ground. I found my pulse again and wrenched my arm out of his grasp. My voice came out like gravel grinding against stone—dry and hollow—as I told him I was only there to visit someone. Damian let out a long, visible breath of relief. “Leila was diagnosed when she was four months pregnant. We’ve been to every major cancer center in the country, but…” He trailed off, finally noticing the wall of ice in my expression. He swallowed the rest of his sentence. As I moved to brush past him, something possessed me. A dark, jagged little thought escaped my lips before I could stop it. “Do you believe in karma, Damian?” 1 Damian’s face paled instantly. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but no sound came out. I gave him a thin, jagged smile—the kind that didn’t reach my eyes—and prepared to walk away. But then, a voice I’d hoped never to hear again drifted through the sterile air. “Damian? Who are you talking to?” I turned, almost on instinct. A woman in a hospital gown and a knit beanie was shuffling toward us. I had prepared myself for the possibility, but seeing Leila like this still hit me with a dull thud of surprise. She had always been the girl who wouldn’t leave the house without a full face of makeup and perfect hair. Now, her skin was the color of old parchment, her eyes sunken into dark hollows. Recognition flared in her eyes. “Doris?” she whispered. When I didn’t respond, she looked at Damian, who was standing uncomfortably close to me. A flicker of something old and territorial crossed her face. She hurried her pace, lacing her fingers through Damian’s and leaning her head heavily against his shoulder. “Doris, look at you. You’re so thin. What kind of cancer do you have? Do you have insurance for the treatment? Because if you need money…” “Leila!” Damian barked, cutting her off. He turned back to me, his eyes full of a sickening kind of pity. “I’m sorry, Doris. Leila’s been… emotional lately. The illness. Please, don’t take it personally.” He hadn’t apologized when I caught him with my cousin. He hadn’t apologized when he systematically dismantled my family’s life to protect her. But now, he was bowing his head to me over a few petty insults. I didn’t care enough to wonder why he’d changed. I didn’t even want to spend the breath it would take to acknowledge him. I gave a curt, empty nod and turned to go. They weren’t expecting me to be so indifferent. I heard them speak at the same time behind my back. “Doris, where are you living now?” Damian asked. “Don’t you ever show your face near us again!” Leila hissed. My phone started buzzing in my pocket—a volunteer from the animal rescue. As I answered, the muffled sounds of an argument broke out behind me. I couldn’t help it; I looked back one last time. I saw Damian irritably brushing off his right shoulder—the exact spot where Leila had just been leaning to mark her territory. “You’re disgusted by me?” Leila’s voice rose to a hysterical pitch. She caught me watching and her face contorted. She grabbed her head, screaming loud enough to rattle the windows. “Do you have any idea what I’ve gone through to carry this baby for you? Do you know how much I gave up to be with you? How can you do this to me? I’m not even dead yet, and you’re already flirting with your ex-wife right in front of me!” The oncology ward is usually a place of heavy, suffocating silence. But Leila’s screams drew every ambulatory patient and bored relative into the hallway. Damian muttered something low and sharp, trying to suppress his rage. Leila’s face flickered with a moment of genuine fear, but then she doubled down, pointing a trembling finger at me. “When did you start seeing her again? Did you set this up? Did you bring her here just so she could see how miserable I am?” The eyes of the crowd shifted to me—curious, judgmental, pitying. I felt a momentary surge of adrenaline, but it settled into a cold, flat calm. Just as I was about to speak, Mrs. O’Malley—a long-time family friend who was practically a permanent fixture at the hospital while she cared for her husband—pushed through the crowd with a heavy plastic pitcher of water. She looked at Leila and spat on the floor. “You two have some nerve showing your faces in this town,” Mrs. O’Malley shouted. “The way you treated the Rossi family… the way you broke those poor people’s hearts… and now you’re here bothering Doris?” 2 Mrs. O’Malley was a regular in the oncology wing, and as soon as she opened her mouth, the crowd leaned in. People started whispering, asking for the story. Mrs. O’Malley glanced at me. I didn’t stop her. I didn’t have the energy to protect their reputations anymore. “This girl?” Mrs. O’Malley pointed her chin at Leila. “She was Doris’s cousin. Doris’s parents treated her like their own daughter. They gave her everything. And how did she thank them? By climbing into her own cousin’s husband’s bed.” Damian and Leila tried to move toward her to shut her up, but the crowd—mostly patients in thin gowns—formed a human wall. If Damian pushed too hard, the families would have torn him apart. The ward, usually so quiet, was now alive with the sound of hissing whispers and sharp insults. Mrs. O’Malley didn’t miss a beat. “And him?” She gestured toward Damian. “A real prince. Doris’s parents paid for his med school. His own mother passed away, he had nobody, and the Rossis took him in. They fed him, they loved him, they treated him like a son. They just wanted their daughter to be happy. Instead, he destroyed her career, forced their restaurant to close, and left them with nothing. Doris’s father died of a broken heart, and her mother followed shortly after because she couldn’t afford the care. They lost everything because of these two leeches!” Someone pulled out a phone and started filming. Damian, sweating under the collective glare of the hallway, looked at me with desperation. “Doris! Leila is fragile. Whatever happened in the past, she’s carrying a child. That baby is innocent. If Leila doesn’t make it, this child is the only blood relative you have left. You can’t just stand there and let this happen!” Leila began to sob, the sound wet and jagged. “Doris, I know you’re bitter. We shouldn’t have done what we did, okay? But my aunt and uncle’s deaths weren’t our fault. You can’t pin that on us!” In that moment, I realized how perfectly matched they truly were. One who always managed to exempt himself from blame, and another who simply refused to believe she could do any wrong. They were black holes of selfishness, consuming everything in their path without a second thought for the lives they ruined. The hallway went silent, everyone waiting for my move. I didn’t give them the satisfaction of an argument. I looked Leila straight in the eyes and asked a question that had nothing to do with her drama. “Have you ever wondered why you got so sick, so young?” Leila’s face shifted. She looked monstrous in her terror. “What are you trying to say?” I gave her a small, haunting smile. “It’s called the bill coming due, Leila. It’s karma.” 3 My phone rang again—the volunteer was getting impatient. I turned my back on Leila’s screeching breakdown and walked toward the elevators. A few bystanders tried to stop me, wanting more details, but Mrs. O’Malley barked at them. “I’ve lived next to the Rossis for thirty years! If you want the dirt, ask me. Leave Doris alone!” I waved a hand of thanks over my shoulder, and she gave me a sharp nod, signaling she had the situation under control. I made it to the rescue shelter with five minutes to spare. A group of college volunteers met me at the door, ushering me toward the back office. “The adopter is already here,” one whispered. “She’s waiting in the quiet room.” The woman had come in after seeing a video we posted of a Golden Retriever. But after walking through the kennels, she ended up adopting a Samoyed as well and donating three months’ worth of premium kibble. Later that evening, I sat in the office, using the shelter’s social media account to post a thank-you note. I tried to push the hospital encounter out of my mind, but it was impossible. The video Mrs. O’Malley’s “audience” had filmed was already going viral locally. One of the volunteers came in, showing me the comments. People had recognized me from the shelter. “Do you want us to try and get it taken down?” she asked. I scanned the screen. “No,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “This is ‘engagement,’ right? The more people see it, the more people see the dogs. Maybe some of these kids will finally get a home.” I figured Damian, a man who lived and breathed for his reputation, would crawl into a hole and stay there after the video went viral. I was wrong. He showed up at the shelter gates before the weekend was over. After five years, he wanted to “talk.” I stared at him through the chain-link fence for a long minute before finally buzzing him in. He immediately recoiled, taking several steps back. “Doris, I forgot… my allergies. The dog hair is everywhere. Can we talk outside?” I didn’t answer. I just walked back into the breakroom. Eventually, he followed, holding his sleeve over his nose and mouth, looking around the room with visible disgust. The constant barking from the kennels made him jump every few seconds. “Doris,” he grumbled, his voice muffled. “I’ll give you money. Start a business, move to another city, do whatever you want. Why are you wasting your life with these… animals?” I took a slow sip of tea, the heat soothing my scorched throat. “The ‘animals’ actually wag their tails when I feed them, Damian. They’re capable of loyalty. Can you say the same?” He winced, silenced for a moment. Just as I thought he might finally leave, he pulled an envelope out of his pocket and slid a debit card across the table. “I admit, I went too far back then. I know your parents’ deaths weren’t directly my fault, but I know I…” “They were my parents,” I cut him off, my voice cracking and turning into a harsh, distorted rasp. “You don’t have a father. And your mother is dead. Don’t you dare call them yours.” The effort of the outburst made my chest ache. Damian frowned, leaning in. “I wanted to ask at the hospital—what happened to your voice? It doesn’t sound like a cold. Why is it so raspy?” I wanted to scream at him, but as I opened my mouth, the familiar wall of silence hit me. The stress had triggered it again. I had lost my voice entirely. Get out, I mouthed. He hesitated, reaching out as if to touch me. I didn’t hesitate; I picked up the scruffy little terrier mix that had been napping at my feet and held it toward him. Damian scrambled back, nearly tripping over his own feet as he fled toward the gate. It took a long time for my heart rate to settle. When I finally went to lock the main gate for the night, I saw something resting on a brick by the curb. The debit card. I didn’t want his money. But then I thought about the mounting vet bills and the empty kibble bins. I thought about the hundred lives depending on me. I picked up the card. 4 When my neighbor, Dotty, called later that night, I still couldn’t produce a sound. Hearing only the rhythmic tapping of my finger on the phone screen, she immediately panicked. “Doris? Is it happening again? Did that bastard show up at the shelter?” I hung up and sent her a quick text: I’m okay. Just tired. She didn’t believe me. Thirty minutes later, her car pulled up to the shelter. “Doris Rossi, you get out here right now!” She checked me over like a mother hen, and only when she was satisfied I wasn’t bleeding did she let out a sigh. “My husband made pot roast. Pack a bag. You’re coming home with us for the night.” After my parents died, the neighborhood had basically adopted me. I didn’t fight her. I grabbed my toothbrush and followed her home. After dinner, I felt a strange, magnetic pull toward my old house. I told Dotty I wanted to check on things. I stopped by the corner store, bought some incense and fresh flowers, and walked the two blocks to the house my mother had fought so hard to keep. Even when she was dying, she had refused to let me sell it. “You need a place to go, Doris,” she’d whispered. “Don’t let them take your home.” The air inside was thick with dust and the faint, lingering scent of my father’s old pipe tobacco. I’d covered the furniture in plastic sheets months ago. I moved through the rooms like a ghost, eventually stopping at the small shrine I’d kept for them. I cleaned their photos with a soft cloth. I lit the incense. As the scent of sandalwood filled the room, I sat on the floor and closed my eyes, letting the silence of the house wrap around me. A sharp knock at the door startled me. I thought it was Dotty coming to fetch me. Instead, I opened the door to find Damian and Leila kneeling on the porch. I didn’t move. I didn’t make a sound. I just watched them with the cold curiosity of someone watching a car wreck. “Doris, please. I’ve come to ask for your forgiveness.” Leila’s tears were perfectly timed. “You were right. Everything happening to me… it’s retribution. I went to see a medium a few years ago, and he told me I was carrying too much dark energy. He said if I didn’t make amends, I’d pay the price.” “When I got the diagnosis, I didn’t believe him. I thought it was just bad luck. But what you said at the hospital… it woke me up. I haven’t slept in two days. I’m in so much pain, Doris. Please, let me make it right. I don’t care if I die, but my baby is innocent!” The old house had thin walls, and Leila wasn’t being quiet. Windows started sliding open in the neighboring houses. Dotty, who lived just below us, came stomping up the stairs. “What is going on out here?” She shined a heavy-duty flashlight directly into their faces. “You! You have the nerve to come back here?” The shouting drew more neighbors. Soon, a small crowd of people who had known my parents for decades was circling the two of them on the porch. Leila shrank behind Damian. Damian took a deep breath, looking at me with a terrifyingly solemn expression. “Doris, I was wrong. I failed you and your parents. We both know this is karma. This baby… it took us years to conceive. It’s our only hope. We want to make it up to you. Money, a public apology, whatever you want. Just… please, for the sake of the child who will call you ‘Aunt,’ give us a chance to fix this. Help us let this baby be born healthy.” I wanted to ask him if he’d forgotten about the baby we had together. The baby I lost while he was busy gaslighting me. The pressure in my chest was unbearable. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t scream. I looked to the neighbors to help me drive them away. But then, one of the women gasped, pointing at Leila’s feet. “Oh my god! Is that blood? Or her water?”
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