I sat in a pew at the Basilica of Our Lady of Perpetual Grace in Boston, more entranced by the cathedral's towering architecture than by the woman droning on about my mother and their wonderful friendship. The service continued around me, but my attention had long since faded. There was only so much praise I could endure for a woman who, in truth, was far from wonderful.

As I admired the church's ornate beauty, I couldn't help but wonder what stories the building might tell if it could speak. Would the stained glass whisper the hidden stories behind the scenes it so vividly depicted? Would the towering windows recount a century of sunrises and sunsets that had streamed through them? Perhaps the arches would echo with the memories of those who had passed beneath them—christenings, baptisms, marriages, and funerals.

I bit my tongue so hard I thought I'd taste blood during the eulogies. Sweet? Generous? Thoughtful? Were these kind and loving words about the same woman who'd judged me at every turn, who had left me to fend for myself both emotionally and, more often than not, physically? I glanced around to confirm I hadn't accidentally walked into the wrong funeral. But when I saw Vinnie sitting there in tears, I knew I was in the right place.

As the stories continued—each more nauseatingly saccharine than the last—I found myself gripping the edge of the pew to stay grounded. I wondered if they were lying to themselves or if they had all just been blind to the woman I had known.

I tuned out the priest's monotonous voice, letting my attention drift to the intricate carvings on the columns surrounding me. Each biblical scene etched into the stone felt like a reminder of one of my mother's countless lectures—sermons disguised as conversations, intended to shame me into some version of holiness I could never quite achieve. My gaze traced the lines of the carvings, and I almost chuckled at the irony. When I'd first stepped into the church, I had to stifle a laugh at the absurdity that I hadn't burst into flames upon entry—something my mother had so often warned would happen.

It was ironic that her church was the Basilica of Our Lady of Perpetual Grace, something she'd never shown me. I could still hear her sharp and cruel voice from the day she stormed into my workplace, where she condemned me in front of everyone and called me a whore without hesitation. She hadn't stopped there—she'd declared I was no longer her daughter, that I had been taken over by the devil himself.

Now, here I was at her funeral, showing her grace and respect.

As the priest droned on about eternal rest and God's mercy, I found myself unsure of what I was meant to feel—loss, guilt, relief? Mostly, I just felt numb, like a bystander in this sombre spectacle. The solemn faces around me blurred and the priest's words faded into mere background noise as I grew impatient to be able to leave.

As soon as the service ended, I was ready to bolt—eager to escape the suffocating sea of false praise and hollow condolences. I had no desire to linger or listen to more lies about the woman I could hardly recognise in their stories. Just as I was about to make my exit, my plan was thwarted. I saw him out of the corner of my eye—Vinnie, my stepfather, his gaze locking onto me with that familiar, unsettling intensity. There was no escaping now; he'd noticed me, and I could already sense the awkward confrontation that was about to unfold.

As soon as a group of women overheard that I was Carey Sullivan's 'long-lost daughter'—the one she'd supposedly been searching for all these years—they wasted no time pulling me over to their table. They sat huddled together, tissues clutched in their hands, eyes swollen and red from crying, exchanging stories of my mother's supposed kindness.

"Carey was the sweetest woman," someone to my right croaked, her voice thick with emotion. "Always so generous, so thoughtful. She will be sorely missed."

I nearly burst out laughing when someone described her 'warm, motherly nature.' If only they knew. I forced the chuckle back down, clenching my jaw and pressing my lips together, sitting quietly among her friends. While they mourned the woman they knew and loved, I tried to forget every part of her.

The moment my phone rang, it felt like a lifeline from above—an escape from the suffocating hell I found myself trapped in. I quickly apologised, rising from my seat and excusing myself. "Sorry, I have to take this. It's my husband, checking in to make sure I'm alright." The women cooed, saying how my mother would be ecstatic knowing I'd found myself a 'good one.'

I answered the phone with a light laugh. "Hey, your timing is impeccable!"

I could practically hear Hoseok's grin on the other end as he chuckled. "I had a feeling you'd need help orchestrating an escape by now."

With a playful giggle, I replied, "If the coffee-clutching captors who've held me hostage all afternoon heard that, they might just rethink their whole 'you married such a nice guy' belief."

"Sunshine, you and I both know I'm not a good guy," he said, his voice dropping its usual brightness as a shadow of darkness crept in.

"Hey, none of that. Big Jay might not be a good guy, but Hoseok Jung is," I replied, reaching my rental car. Once inside and leaning back in the driver's seat, I closed the door and took a deep breath, savouring the calm and the solitude. "Hoseok, you've shown me nothing but kindness since we got married. If I met you on the street, I'd never guess you were a gangster. All I'd see is the man who makes me feel safe and cherished."

"You give me far too much credit, Chloe, but it's nice to hear you say that," he chuckled, though the familiar warmth in his voice was still missing. "So, how was it? I assume since I'm talking to you, you didn't burst into flames?"

His humour pulled a genuine, unrestrained laugh from me. Hoseok knew everything about my complicated relationship with my mother, especially her belief that I was inherently evil. "No, thankfully. I didn't want to give her the satisfaction of thinking she was right... even in death." I let out a deep sigh, closing my eyes in a vain attempt to ease the wave of nausea rolling through me.

Though we weren't face-to-face, Hoseok immediately picked up on the shift in my mood. "Hey, Sunshine, you okay? Is the nausea still hitting you?" His voice softened with concern as if he could sense my discomfort from miles away.

"I'm just remembering all the fucking bullshit people were saying about her... it's honestly making me sick to my stomach," I admitted, trying to keep my tone light despite the tight knot forming in my gut. "If I had to hear one more person gush about how wonderful and generous she was, or what an amazing woman she had been, I swear I would have thrown up all over them."

A fresh wave of nausea surged with bile rising in my throat. I swallowed it back, refusing to let it derail the conversation. I wasn't exaggerating when I told Hoseok that listening to those people praise a woman who had only ever been cruel and neglectful made me sick to my stomach. Every kind word felt like a slap in the face, twisting the truth of who she had been to me.

"Chloe..." Hoseok began, but his words trailed off into a sigh, heavy with something he wasn't saying.

I paused; the silence between us was thick enough to notice. "What? What were you going to say?" I asked, trying to prompt him, even though part of me already had a feeling where this was going.

My husband paused for a moment before speaking. "I think it's time for you to go get checked out, Sunshine."

"What? Why? I'm fine," I said. As the words left my mouth, I wasn't sure I even believed them.

"Chloe, this nausea has been going on for too long," Hoseok continued gently, but there was a firmness in his voice that told me he wasn't going to let it slide this time. "I'm really starting to worry about you. And it's not just today. You've been dealing with this for weeks, and I don't like seeing you like this. You shouldn't be feeling sick this often."

I swallowed, the familiar unease creeping in again. It wasn't just from the nausea but from the concern in his voice. "I mean... it's probably just stress. You know that everything's been so overwhelming lately. And they'll just do a pregnancy test, which we both know will come back negative. I've never missed a pill, haven't had antibiotics, and even though my period was on the lighter side when I had the sugar pills, that's still normal because it's happened before."

"I know," he replied, his tone soft but unyielding, "but what if there's something wrong? You've been pushing through it but your body's trying to tell you something. I just... I don't want to take any chances. Not with you—you're too important to me."

His words hit me harder than I expected, making it impossible to keep pretending everything was fine. "Okay," I finally said with a small nod, my voice softer. "I'll call around and try to get an appointment for today or tomorrow."

"Thank you, Sunshine." The relief in Hoseok's voice was unmistakable, warming me even through the phone. "I really appreciate it. Listen, I've got to head back into my meetings, but promise you'll keep me updated, yeah?"

"I will," I assured him, feeling a little lighter knowing he cared enough to push me on this.

♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸🖤¸¸.•*¨*•♫♪

On my third attempt, I got lucky and secured an appointment with a highly recommended primary care provider. To my surprise, there was an available slot due to a last-minute cancellation, and I only had to wait an hour for the appointment. Part of me felt relieved to be seen today; had I been forced to wait a day or two, I knew I'd have talked myself out of going.

From what I had seen so far between the sleek building and welcoming reception area, the clinic seemed to live up to all the glowing reviews I had read online. After filling out the patient forms, I settled into one of the plush armchairs and pulled out my phone. Thanks to Agust's tech-savvy skills, I was able to prevent Irene from wiping my phone's memory. She thought she had successfully erased everything after I was forced to return to New York, but a clever app Agust had created tricked her into believing it was gone.

I opened my photo gallery, entered my encryption password, and couldn't help but smile as I scrolled through pictures of my boyfriend and our friends in Hawaii. Each image stirred a deep sense of nostalgia and a longing to be with them again. I'd had to get creative if I wanted to view my photos at home. Pretending to take long bathroom breaks while 'reading' on my phone had become a little routine of mine. Hoseok and I had determined that the bathrooms were the only rooms in the house where Irene hadn't planted cameras. Whoever was watching from her end probably thought I took the world's longest trips to poop, but it was my only safe haven to relive those precious memories.

One photo caught my eye—Yoongi and I dressed up and kissing at Jimin and Poppy's wedding. My finger traced lightly over his face on the screen, and my heart ached for the day I could see him again.

"Chloe?" a male voice called, pulling me from my thoughts. "Chloe Harlowe?"

I quickly closed my phone and stood up, making my way over to the doctor, who greeted me with a warm smile. "I'm Dr Simon Wycliffe," he introduced himself, his voice calm and inviting. I put him to be in his early thirties; he had a youthful energy about him that immediately put me at ease. His strawberry-blonde hair was neatly styled, and his striking green eyes seemed to reflect both intelligence and kindness. He wore a crisp white coat over a light blue shirt, and his demeanour exuded a sense of professionalism mixed with genuine warmth. As he gestured for me to follow him into the office, I couldn't help but feel I was in capable hands.

"What brings you in today, Chloe?" Dr Wycliffe asked after we settled into our seats.

I took a deep breath and began to explain the nausea and other troubling symptoms I had been experiencing. I also shared that I had been under significant stress lately—both from my demanding job and the recent loss of my mother. He listened intently, nodding and taking notes as I spoke, and then proceeded to ask a series of questions to gather more information. We discussed my current medications, my birth control usage, and any relevant family history of illnesses that might shed light on my condition.

After carefully noting down my responses, Dr Wycliffe looked up with a reassuring expression. "I don't think you're pregnant, especially since you've been consistently using birth control," he said. "However, I will need to run a pregnancy test as a formality for your insurance."

He then continued, "While you complete a urine sample for me, I'll order some blood tests to check your vitamin levels, blood count, hormones, and other relevant factors. If both tests come back normal, we'll keep investigating to figure out what's going on."

His calm and thorough approach helped ease my anxiety, and I nodded, feeling hopeful that we would uncover the cause of my symptoms. "That sounds good," I replied, grateful for his professionalism and support.

I picked up the small plastic cup and made my way to the bathroom, carefully following Dr Wycliffe's instructions. To distract myself from the rising anxiety, I began to sing softly to myself, choosing Bruno Mars' 'Talking to the Moon.' It was one of Yoongi's favourite songs, and the poignant lyrics resonated deeply with me, reflecting just how much I missed him.

As I sang, I could almost picture him beside me, his warm smile and gentle presence soothing my worries. The familiar melody wrapped around me, creating a comforting bubble. With each note, I felt a little more grounded. The song was a bittersweet reminder of our connection and how we were apart, and for a brief moment, it made the sterile environment of the clinic feel a little more like home.

I pushed open the bathroom door, immediately struck by how clean and fresh it smelled. All three stalls were empty, so I headed for the farthest one on the right, away from the entrance. The coffee I'd had after the service had kicked in, and it didn't take long to fill the sample cup. After drying off the outside with some toilet paper, I carefully placed it into the brown paper bag, flushed, and made my way to the sink to wash my hands.

Just as I reached the vanity, I nearly screamed. My heart jumped in my chest as I saw someone casually leaning against the wall beside the door. I hadn't heard it open, so I'd assumed I was still alone.

"It's good to see you, Chloe," the person said, smiling warmly. "I've missed you."

"Jungkook?!" I exclaimed, my pulse racing as frustration surged. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!" I snapped, stepping around him to get to the sink. As I aggressively pumped the soap dispenser, I shot him a look. "What are you even doing here?"

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my reaction. "What? I can't come to Boston to support a friend on the day her mother's buried?" he replied with a smirk.

"No," I said, my annoyance growing as I scrubbed my hands under the water. "I mean, what are you doing in the women's bathroom at a doctor's office?"

Jungkook's smirk faded, his expression shifting to something much more serious. "This was the only place I knew I could talk to you without being seen," he said quietly, the weight of his words settling between us.

I turned off the water, realising that whatever he had to say must be important—serious enough for him to resort to sneaking into the women's bathroom. My heart began to race for a different reason now, sensing the urgency.

"We don't have much time," Jungkook continued, his voice low and tense. "I need you to listen to me very carefully."