BOUND BY VOWS

Christa had stopped believing hospitals ever truly slept. Even at night, even when the lights were dimmed and the corridors looked half-forgotten, there was always movement somewhere soft footsteps, distant voices, the quiet beeping of machines reminding everyone that life was still hanging on, even when it looked like it wasn’t. Room 3B was no different. She had been standing outside it longer than she meant to. Long enough that her legs had started to feel heavy. Long enough that the smell of disinfectant had begun to cling to her clothes. Long enough that she had memorized the sound of the monitor inside steady, then uneven, then steady again. Like it couldn’t decide what kind of story it wanted to tell. Her father was inside. And no matter how many times she told herself she was prepared for bad news, it never actually felt like preparation when it came. The doctor’s words from earlier still echoed in her mind. We need to act fast. Fast. That single word had followed her out of the consultation room like a shadow. Fast meant money they didn’t have. Fast meant decisions she couldn’t afford to get wrong. Fast meant watching time move forward while she stood still, trying to hold everything together with bare hands. Christa exhaled slowly and pressed her back against the wall beside the door. Her phone was in her hand, though she wasn’t really looking at it anymore. She had already scrolled through everything she could think of. Family members who would sympathize but couldn’t help. Friends who would pray but not pay. Numbers she could call just to hear another human voice, even if it wouldn’t change anything. Nothing useful. Nothing enough. Her thumb hovered over her contacts again, stopping on the same place it always stopped when things got too heavy to carry alone. A name she hadn’t said out loud in years. Damian Blackwood. She stared at it for a long moment, like it might change into something else if she gave it enough time. It didn’t. That name still carried the same weight it always had. Just hearing it in her head made her think of glass buildings that touched the sky, men in expensive suits who never raised their voices, and a kind of silence that wasn’t peaceful. it was controlled. A world that didn’t look like hers. And a man she had deliberately left behind in it. Christa almost locked her phone again. Almost. But then she looked back at the door to Room 3B. In Life, on the other hand, it isn’t waiting for pride or history or prideful decisions. Her finger moved before she could overthink it. She pressed call. The ringing started. Once. Twice. Her heart tightened with each tone, irritation and disbelief already building in her chest. She told herself he wouldn’t answer. That would be a mistake. That she would hang up before anything real happened. But then “Christa.” The voice stopped her breath more than it surprised her. Because it didn’t sound like someone from the past forcing their way into the present. It sounded like someone who had never really left the present at all. Calm. Certain. Controlled. Her fingers tightened around the phone. “… Who is this?” she asked, even though her stomach had already dropped. A pause followed. Not confusion. Recognition on his end too. “It’s Damian.” Christa turned away from the door without thinking, walking a few steps down the corridor as distance could help her process what she was hearing. Damian Blackwood. Of course. Of course, it had to be him. “How did you get this number?” she asked quietly. “You didn’t change it,” he said. That alone annoyed her more than it should have. Like he still had no business knowing things about her life. Christa let out a small breath, trying to steady herself. “Why are you calling me?” There was a pause on the line. Longer this time. Like he was choosing what version of the truth she was going to get. When he spoke again, it was direct. “I need a wife.” Christa stopped walking. For a moment, the surrounding hospital didn’t feel real anymore. Nurses moved past her, someone laughed faintly at the end of the corridor, a door opened and closed somewhere, but it all felt distant, like she was hearing it through water. “… You what?” she said slowly. “A contract marriage,” Damian continued, as if he was explaining something simple. “Temporary. Structured. No emotional expectations.” Christa let out a short laugh, but she wasn’t amused. It came out more like disbelief trying to defend itself. “You called me after years to offer me a contract marriage?” “Yes.” No hesitation. No softness. Just certainty. She pressed her free hand to her forehead. “Do you hear how insane that sounds?” “I hear it,” he replied. “It still stands.” That was the problem with Damian Blackwood. He didn’t argue to convince. He stated things like they had already decided. Christa lowered her hand slowly, leaning back against the wall again. “Why me?” Another pause. This one felt heavier. “Because you won’t turn it into something emotional,” he said. “And you’ll understand what’s required.” Something about that landed wrong in her chest. Not because it was flattering. Because it wasn’t. It was selection. No connection. Christa looked down the corridor again toward Room 3B. The door was still closed. Still holding her father in a place she couldn’t reach without help. Her grip tightened around the phone. “You really think this is normal?” she asked. “I don’t deal in normal,” Damian said. Of course, he didn’t. Silence stretched between them. Not empty. Just full of everything neither of them were saying. Christa swallowed, her voice quieter now. “And if I say no?” “You won’t.” There was no arrogance in his tone. Just confidence. The kind that came from knowing timing better than emotion. That should have made her angry. It did. But underneath it was something worse. Understanding. Because part of her already knew he was right. She closed her eyes briefly, breathing slowly. Her father. The hospital. The mounting bills she had been avoiding thinking about too clearly. Everything pressed in at once. “What are the terms?” she asked finally. There was a slight pause at the other end. No hesitation. Structure forming. “Three years,” Damian said. “Public marriage. Private separation unless required. No interference in each other’s personal decisions unless it affects appearances.” Christa listened without speaking. Each word felt heavier than the last. A deal. A contract. A life reshaped into clauses. And yet… It solved something she couldn’t solve alone. Her eyes opened again, staring at the sterile white wall in front of her. Room 3B still waiting behind her. Her father was still waiting behind that door. And for the first time that morning, Christa didn’t feel like she had any clean options left. Only necessary ones. She exhaled slowly. “…I need time,” she said. On the other end, Damian didn’t push. He never did. “You don’t have much of it,” he replied. And then the line stayed open for a second longer than necessary. Not because either of them had more to say. But because something had already started. Something neither of them fully understood yet. Christa lowered the phone slowly, her hand still trembling slightly. Behind her, Room 3B remained closed. But her life somewhere without permission had already begun to open in a completely different direction.