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             THE DEAL PARIS HAD MADE WITH THE KING was simple.

             During the time they had spoken, he had made his wishes clear.

             If she didn't do as he asked, she would lose her job.

             But that wasn't what had scared her—that wasn't what had persuaded her. It was something else, something she hadn't mentioned to anyone. It was his offer. 

             Paris's kids, her patients, they were slowly dying. There was no cure for most of them. The majority of the children had diseases there was no funding for, and they were suffering because of it. It wasn't anyone's fault—it was just the way the world was. There was no money, and people died because of it.

             So a donation to the research . . . 

             An opportunity for a cure. 

             It was the king's generous offer that had swayed Paris.

             Because how could she say no to someone to who was giving her the chance to help her kids? How could she say no, if it meant her kids would pay the price?

             The children here were worth more than Paris's life.

              And they were more important than the love of her life.

              So Paris had accepted.

              "By the end of these six weeks, I want my daughter to be the princess the kingdom needs. I want her to be the prim, proper lady Vega's Boarding Academy taught you to be. I know you went to school with Rory, and I know you have been in the top of the class your whole life."

              Paris had said, "Just because we went to the same school together—"

              "I want my daughter to be mature. I want her to be tamed. And I don't care how you do it, Paris Alvarez Young, but you will do it."

             "It's not my responsibility to make someone mature!"

             "It's your responsibility, as a doctor, to do whatever you can for your patients. And won't this generous donation I am giving help those children?"

             "You're a twisted—"

              "Doctor Young, I don't care if you have to fall in love with her and break her heart. I want her tamed. I want her broken! And I want you to do it."

              "She's not a horse, or a pair of Doc Martens I can just break in!"

              "Let me tell you something, Paris,"  the king had said. "My daughter is a wild, irresponsible womanizer. I am going to step down from the throne soon, and when I do, I want her to take my place. But the princess has always been reckless and arrogant. You are going to teach her some manners, and when you break her heart, she will be the perfect heir."

               Pure rage. Paris had never felt such pure rage.

               "You can't just expect me to—"

                But he had ended the call, and only an hour later, the hospital director had called her in. A meeting she had not told anyone about.

                Paris's hands had trembled. He's going to fire me. 

                Was he going to force her to resign because of Tasha?

                But then he said, King William of Valeria just made a very, very handsome donation to the children's ward of the hospital. And he says it's thanks to you.

                That had been one month ago.

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                 BUT PARIS HADN'T MEANT TO FALL IN LOVE. 

                 She wasn't supposed to get her heart broken. Again.

                 Now, as she prepared herself outside of Tasha's room, rocking back on her heels, she could only think of one thing.

                 "Paris?" said Alec's voice.

                 "London," she blurted out.

                 Alec's sapphire eyes narrowed. "Who's London?"

                 "No one," Paris said. "I'm just . . . I don't want to go inside."

                 Alec softened. "You're going to tell her about her mother."

                 "I don't want to," Paris admitted. "I haven't read the note, but . . . the hospital says it was brutal. Evelyn Tribeca accused Tasha, me . . . I guess I'm scared."

                 Alec's hand was on her shoulder. A light touch.

                 "Paris, when my sister died of a drug overdose at sixteen, I was the one who had to look my mom in the eyes and tell her that her beloved, straight-A daughter was dead. It's better to rip the bandage off fast, I think. There's no way to say it nicely."

                 And Paris knew that. She had experience—too much experience, telling parents their children were dead.

                But this . . .

                Tasha reminded her of London.

                And it was crazy. It was crazy. 

                London had been dead for years.

                "Okay," Paris whispered. "Thanks, Alec. And . . . I'm sorry."

                "Don't be," Alec said, smiling faintly. "It's not your fault."

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                TASHA DIDN'T CRY. 

                SHE DIDN'T SCREAM. 

                She didn't even sob.

                But Paris could see the exact moment the words hollowed her out. Clanging inside of her like the echo of a bell. Dead. Dead. Dead.

                Suicide. 

                "Was it . . . was it because of me?"

                "No," Paris said fiercely. "Your mother had something called bi-polar disorder. And she loved you, in her own way, but she made the decision to leave."

                "What happens now?" Tasha whispered.

                 What happens now? 

                 It was a good question.

                 "You're a ward of the government now," Paris said. 

                 "And the hospital?"

                 "Canadian healthcare is free," Paris promised.

                 "Oh," Tasha said. 

                 No tears. No relief.

                 Paris felt the rawness, the devastating realization, that the life was gone from her. Maybe it was grief. Maybe it was temporary, but—

                 There was something Paris needed to see.

                 What had Evelyn Tribeca written in her suicide note?

                 Two hours later, Paris was on a phone call with the hospital. Arguing for her rights to see the letter, to see the final words of Mrs. Tribeca.

                 "Ma'am, I don't know if I'm allowed to—"

                 "Who is it addressed to?"

                 "Tasha Tribeca," said the voice on the phone. 

                  "Listen," Paris said calmly. "What's your name?"

                   "Um, Emma Wang—"

                   "Emma Wang," said Paris. "Please read me the letter."

                    Emma Wang read her the letter.

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                     "Tasha, my daughter,

                     "I love you dearly. You were a beautiful, kind, caring girl, and I could not have asked for a better daughter. I am sorry I need to leave you this way.

                    "I know you will make me proud one day. I know you will be beautiful. I know you will have a husband. I know you will be everything I want you to be."

                    Paris couldn't hear over the roar of the fire in her ears.

                    "I am entrusting Doctor Paris Young to take care of you. This is a personal decision. One day, she will understand why."

                    No, Paris thought. I don't understand anything. 

                   "Tasha, I want you to know that I do love you. I'll be watching you from Heaven.

                   "You'll make me proud one day."

✺✺✺

I think this one is called 'gaslighting.'

We're on a roll, people.

This one is for Suicidal_Seal
A little apology in advance. I'll do my best not to break your heart.

From the moon and back,
Sarai