Stacey’s POV
The next morning was a blur of hurried packing and whispered goodbyes. The camp master gave us clearance without hesitation, his kind smile disarming me. “You’ve done more than enough here,” he said. “Take care of what you need to.”
Marcus stayed by my side, his presence steady and reassuring as we prepared to leave. But just as we were about to load our bags into the camp van, a shrill voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Of course Stacey gets to go home early,” Bianca sneered, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
I turned slowly to see her and her Tattelle Belles sitting on the steps of their cabin, watching us like hawks.
“She always gets what she wants,” one of them chimed in, flipping her hair.
“And here I thought this camp was supposed to be fair,” Bianca added, her lips curling into a smirk. “Guess rules don’t apply to queens.”
Anger bubbled in my chest, but Marcus spoke before I could.
“Say one more thing, and you’ll regret it,” he said coolly, his tone carrying enough weight to make the girls shrink back slightly.
Bianca rolled her eyes, but she didn’t push further. I turned away, forcing myself to ignore their whispers as we climbed into the van.
The drive to the hospital was quiet, the tension thick in the air. I stared out the window, watching the trees blur into a green haze, my mind racing.
“What are you thinking about?” Marcus asked softly.
I hesitated, my hands twisting in my lap. “I don’t know. Everything. Nothing.”
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said. “No one would blame you if you walked away.”
I turned to him, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “But I would. I’d blame myself.”
He didn’t say anything, but his hand found mine, his grip firm and grounding.
As the hospital came into view, my chest tightened. This was it. The moment I’d been dreading.
“Whatever happens,” Marcus said, his voice steady, “you’ve got this.”
I nodded, swallowing hard as we pulled into the parking lot. It was time to face the past—and the future.