Save Your Breath, I'm Done Drowning - Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Dillon's face went pale as yesterday's memories came rushing back—everything he and Remy had said right in front of me, and what he'd told his subordinate at my hospital ward. His chest constricted, and for the first time, real panic flashed in his eyes. He grabbed Nathan by the shoulders, his grip bordering on frantic.
"Her hearing came back—why the hell didn't you tell me?"
Nathan flinched at the raw intensity in Dillon's voice. "She wanted to surprise you," he admitted. "Made me swear not to say anything. Soon as she could hear again, she went straight to find you so she could tell you herself. Didn't she?"
The realization hit Dillon like a punch to the gut. Without another word, he shoved Nathan aside and bolted for the exit.
"Dillon!" Alyssa called after him, alarm sharpening her voice. "Where are you going?"
This time, he didn't stop. Didn't even look back.
When she grabbed his arm, he wrenched free so hard she stumbled, her heels catching on the carpet as she crashed to the floor. The crowd murmured at the sight of her tear-streaked face, but Dillon didn't notice. Didn't care.
He slammed into his car, the engine snarling to life, and tore out of there like the devil was on his tail.
Alyssa stood frozen, watching his taillights vanish into the night. Her fists clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms. Fury burned hotter with every heartbeat.
She'd never seen him like this—unhinged, desperate—especially not over someone else. The truth twisted her pretty face into something ugly.
Dillon's car screamed through the streets, his foot flooring the gas. The world outside blurred, but all he saw was that hospital room. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.
The closer he got, the tighter his chest squeezed—like the distance was collapsing physically but stretching emotionally.
Had he been too harsh? Too blind? Had he pushed her past the point of no return?
By the time he skidded into the hospital lot, his heart was hammering like a jackhammer. He didn't even bother shutting the car door before sprinting inside, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
"Mia! Honey!" he shouted, ignoring the stares from nurses.
When he reached the room, he didn't knock. The door exploded inward under his palm, crashing against the wall.
But the bed was empty.
The room was tomb-silent. The sheets were crisply folded, the nightstand bare—except for a single document centered on the mattress.
Dillon's breath caught. Ice slithered down his spine. He moved like he was wading through wet cement, his eyes locked on that paper.
When he finally reached it, his hands shook as he lifted the document. The bold letters at the top struck like a knife:
[DIVORCE AGREEMENT]
His vision swam as he flipped through the pages, every legal term twisting the knife deeper. Then—there it was. Her signature. Final. Absolute.
For a heartbeat, he just stood there. The papers slipped from his fingers, fluttering to the floor like dead leaves.
"No..." The word cracked in his throat before erupting into a roar. "NO!"
He dropped to his knees, snatching up the papers and shredding them in a frenzy. Pieces rained around him, but it did nothing to ease the suffocating dread crushing his lungs.
Fumbling for his phone, he dialed her number. Each ring stretched into eternity—until a robotic voice gutted him:
"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."
Blocked.
He stabbed at his screen, typing a message. The second he hit send, a glaring red exclamation point mocked him.
Final. She was gone.
His phone clattered to the tiles. Dillon's breath came in ragged gasps as the truth sucker-punched him:
She left me. She really left me.
Desperation hardened into resolve. Dillon mobilized his staff, snarling orders to turn the city upside down. His voice frayed with every dead-end update.
He called my parents—pathetic, but he was out of options. Their indifference was a slap.
"She's just a deaf girl," my mother sneered. "Why bother? She'll come crawling back like always."
My father was worse. "Whether she lives or dies means nothing to us. Alyssa's our only daughter. Stop wasting our time."
Dillon ended the call, his jaw clenched to the point of pain. Next move: a missing person report.
The next week was hell. Dillon barely ate, slept, or drank. His sharp cheekbones turned gaunt, his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion and—though he'd never admit it—tears.
The truth hit him like a freight train: For years, he'd lied to himself. Convinced himself Alyssa owned his heart. But the hole I left behind was a yawning chasm, devouring him piece by piece.
He'd lost me. And for the first time, he admitted the unbearable truth—he couldn't live without me.
Then, his phone rang. [Alyssa.]
Fresh rage ignited as he remembered exactly how this nightmare started.
He answered with a venomous "What?"
Alyssa's saccharine voice oozed through the line. "Dillon, I don't feel well... Can you take me to the hospital?"
A month ago, he'd have dropped everything. Now, it grated like nails on a chalkboard.
His restraint snapped. "Alyssa, you have a husband," he snarled. "Or is he just decoration? Go cry to your parents. Stop fucking calling me!"
Every word burned hotter, a week's worth of fury boiling over. "My wife left because of you! Call me again, and I swear to God—you'll regret it."
Alyssa's sharp inhale was audible. He'd never spoken to her like this.
The line went dead before she could reply. Humiliation burned through her. How dare he?
But Dillon was already gone, leaving her seething in the wreckage.