Worried
1301 Words
HOURS LATER
The ride home from the hospital felt longer than usual. Georgia sat quietly in the back seat, watching the city lights flicker past the window like they were running from her. Mark drove in silence, glancing at her through the rearview mirror now and then, but he didn’t say much. He didn’t have to. The air between them already said enough.
By the time they reached the Brooks mansion, the sun had long disappeared behind the trees. The house looked too quiet, even for this hour. She hadn’t realized how strange it would feel walking back through the same doors after everything that had happened.
Her father’s driver helped her out of the car, but she waved him off gently. “I can walk,” she murmured, even though her body still felt weak.
Inside, the living room lights were dim, and the air smelled faintly of the lavender candles. Georgia didn’t know if that was meant to comfort her or remind her that everything was far from normal.
When she reached her room, she sat on the edge of her bed, fingers brushing against the blanket, her eyes fixed on her phone.
The screen stayed dark. No new messages. No missed calls.
Lucian hadn’t called.
Not last night. Not this morning. Not even now.
Her chest ached with that dull, heavy kind of worry that came from overthinking too much and saying nothing at all. She pressed the side button again just to be sure, but the screen still showed the same thing, silence.
She sighed and leaned back against the headboard, dragging a pillow close to her chest. Her father’s house had always been big, but now it felt bigger. Empty. Like every sound was swallowed before it could reach her.
A soft knock broke through the quiet.
“Come in,” she said, her voice low.
The door creaked open and Mark stepped in, holding a glass of water. He looked better rested than she felt, though his eyes still carried the worry that had never left since she fainted.
He stopped by the bed and studied her. “You should be resting,” he said gently. “The doctor said another day or two before you start running around again.”
“I’m fine,” Georgia replied, her tone flat. “You don’t have to keep checking on me.”
He handed her the glass anyway. “Yeah, well, it makes me feel better.”
She took it with a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks.”
Mark sat on the chair beside her bed and crossed his arms. “You’ve barely said ten words since we got home.”
“I’m just tired.”
He tilted his head, watching her carefully. “Tired, or thinking too much?”
Her fingers tightened around the glass. “Maybe both.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You’ve been through a lot lately. I get it. But you don’t have to shut everyone out.”
“I’m not,” she said quickly.
He raised a brow. “Then talk to me.”
Georgia hesitated. Her throat tightened. What could she even say?
That she’d found out her whole life was a lie? That the man she’d called Dad all her life wasn’t her real father? That her biological father was the same monster the FBI just dragged into custody?
She couldn’t. Not until she could even believe it herself.
“I just need time,” she said softly. “That’s all.”
Mark nodded slowly, understanding. He didn’t push her, and that made it harder somehow. His silence gave her space, but it also gave her thoughts room to breathe, and they weren’t kind.
She stared down at the water, her reflection rippling. “It’s strange,” she whispered after a while. “How everything can change in just one night.”
Mark’s gaze softened. “Yeah. Life does that.”
“Does it ever stop?” she asked, glancing up at him.
He smiled faintly. “If it did, it’d be boring.”
That earned a small laugh from her, quiet, short-lived, but real.
Mark relaxed back in his chair. “There’s the sound I’ve been waiting to hear.”
“I’ll try to make it a habit,” she said, though the edges of her words trembled.
Mark stood up after a moment, stretching a little. “Dad stepped out to get something to eat. He said he’d bring you something.”
“I’m not hungry,” she murmured.
“You’ll eat anyway,” he said in that brotherly tone that always made her roll her eyes.
“Bossy,” she muttered.
He smirked. “You love me for it.”
She didn’t reply, just smiled faintly as he walked toward the door. But before he reached it, her voice stopped him.
“Mark?”
He turned, one hand still on the doorknob. “Yeah?”
Her lips parted, but the words didn’t come. She wanted to ask if he believed their father, if he thought the story was true, but fear caught her tongue. She wasn’t ready to hear it confirmed. Not yet.
She forced a small smile instead. “Nothing. Thanks for the water.”
He looked like he wanted to say more but decided against it. “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”
When the door closed, the quiet returned.
Georgia placed the half-full glass on the nightstand and reached for her phone again. Still nothing.
No calls.
No texts.
Her heart sank. Lucian always called. Even when he was busy. He never went a full day without at least checking in. And now… it had been two.
She opened their message thread, scrolling back through their chats, the way he used to tease her with short messages and half-smiles hidden behind words. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, typing his name, erasing it, typing again.
Finally, she pressed the call button.
The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
Then... voicemail.
She ended the call before it could beep and set the phone facedown on her lap, swallowing hard.
Maybe he was busy. Maybe he was tired.
Georgia pushed off the bed and walked to the window, pulling the curtains slightly. The sky outside was painted in deep orange and soft gray, the kind of evening that felt both peaceful and lonely. She rested her forehead against the glass, her breath fogging it lightly.
“What if he’s angry with me?” she whispered to herself. “What if he doesn’t want to see me anymore?”
Her reflection looked back, pale, tired and unsure. She closed her eyes, trying to push away the echo of her father’s voice from last night.
Her chest tightened. She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t.
Zanetti wasn’t her father. He couldn’t be. That man didn’t know what love looked like. And yet… everything her father said fit together too perfectly to be lies.
She pressed her palm against her forehead, shaking her head slowly. “No. I’m not his. I’m not.”
Her voice cracked. The denial sounded thin even to her own ears.
When she turned away from the window, the room suddenly felt too small, too heavy. The walls seemed to close in with memories that weren’t hers, secrets she never asked for. She walked to her bedside table and grabbed her phone again, holding it tight in her hand like it could ground her.
“Maybe he doesn’t know,” she said under her breath. “Maybe that’s why he hasn’t called.”
But deep down, she knew it wasn’t true. Lucian would have come. He always did. He wasn’t the type to disappear.
Unless he had something going on too.
- Writer
