Saturday arrived quietly.
Malissa woke before her alarm.
For a few moments, she remained beneath the covers, staring at the ceiling of the unfamiliar bedroom that had slowly begun to feel less foreign over the past weeks.
The previous days had been exhausting.
The hospital.
The delayed appeal.
The media attention.
The endless uncertainty surrounding her father.
Yet this morning felt different.
Lighter.
Not because her problems had disappeared.
Because for the first time in a long while, she had something to look forward to.
She glanced at the clock on the bedside table.
Ten thirty.
A small smile touched her lips.
Today was Saturday.
One of the approved call days.
Monday.
Wednesday.
Saturday.
Three simple days that now carried more meaning than she could explain.
She pushed aside the blanket and got out of bed.
An hour later, she was on her way to the hospital.
The familiar scent of disinfectant greeted her as she stepped into the room.
Her mother looked up immediately.
Amina Fisher's complexion still carried traces of illness, but there was color in her face now.
Strength.
Hope.
Things that had been missing for a very long time.
"You came early today."
Malissa smiled as she set down the fruit she'd brought.
"I know."
Her mother narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"What are you planning?"
"Nothing."
"Liar."
A small laugh escaped Malissa.
The sound surprised both of them.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then her mother reached for her hand.
"You look happier."
The words caught her off guard.
She looked away.
"I'm trying."
Amina squeezed her fingers gently.
"That's enough."
They spent the next hour talking.
About ordinary things.
Doctors.
Food.
The weather.
Anything except prison.
Anything except courts.
Anything except the years they had lost.
Then the clock on the wall approached eleven thirty.
Malissa checked her phone.
Her mother noticed.
The corner of her mouth twitched.
"Waiting for someone?"
"No."
Another lie.
The phone rang.
Amina frowned.
Unknown number.
Malissa's smile appeared instantly.
And that was all her mother needed to see.
"Who is it?"
Malissa answered the call.
"Hello?"
A familiar voice came through the line.
"Malissa."
Everything inside her stilled.
The smile disappeared.
Her eyes burned.
"Dad."
The word left her in a whisper.
Across the room, her mother froze.
Malissa immediately switched the call to speaker.
For a second, nobody spoke.
Then her father laughed softly.
The sound was older than she remembered.
Tired.
But unmistakably his.
"Amina?"
A hand flew to her mother's mouth.
Tears appeared instantly.
"You're alright."
Her father's voice softened.
"As alright as a man in prison can be."
Her mother laughed through her tears.
The sound made Malissa's own eyes sting.
For years, she had dreamed of moments like this.
Simple moments.
Normal moments.
Moments that should never have been taken away from them.
"How are you feeling?" her father asked.
"Better," Amina replied.
"The doctors are optimistic."
"Good."
"And you?"
"I'm fine."
Malissa rolled her eyes immediately.
"You always say that."
His chuckle filled the room.
"Because it's usually true."
"It isn't true."
"It is true enough."
The conversation continued.
Small things.
Simple things.
Yet every word felt precious.
Her father asked about the hospital.
About the lawyers.
About the appeal.
He listened quietly as Malissa updated him.
"The lawyer says we're still waiting."
"I know."
"We'll keep fighting."
"I know."
The certainty in his voice never wavered.
It never had.
Even after years behind bars.
Even after everything.
"Do you ever get tired?" she asked quietly.
Silence followed.
Then:
"Of prison?"
"Of waiting."
His answer came immediately.
"No."
The firmness surprised her.
"Why?"
"Because you're still fighting for me."
Her throat tightened.
Her father continued.
"You've carried this family for years."
A glance passed between Malissa and her mother.
They both knew the truth of it.
Working through school.
Taking extra shifts.
Paying bills.
Paying legal fees.
Keeping everything together when there was barely anything left to hold.
His voice softened.
"I know what you've sacrificed."
Her eyes burned.
"Dad—"
"I'm proud of you."
The words shattered something inside her.
Not painfully.
Gently.
Like a wound finally beginning to heal.
She lowered her head.
Unable to speak.
Across from her, her mother's eyes filled with tears again.
"I mean it," her father continued.
"Very few people could have done what you've done."
The room fell silent.
Not uncomfortable.
Just full.
Full of things none of them had said for years.
Eventually, the prison officer announced the remaining time.
The call was ending.
Too soon.
Far too soon.
Her father sighed.
"Looks like they're kicking me out."
Amina laughed.
"They're not kicking you out."
"Feels like it."
Another announcement echoed faintly.
Malissa swallowed.
"We'll talk again."
"We will."
A pause.
Then:
"Wednesday."
A simple reminder.
Their next call.
Something to hold onto.
Something certain.
"Wednesday," she agreed.
The line disconnected.
The room fell quiet.
Nobody spoke for several moments.
Then her mother wiped her eyes.
"Alexander arranged this, didn't he?"
Malissa blinked.
"I don't know."
Amina gave her a look.
"You do know."
She looked down at her phone.
Maybe she did.
The afternoon sun streamed through the penthouse windows when Malissa returned home.
The living room was quiet.
Alexander sat near the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
Laptop open.
Tablet beside him.
Several reports spread neatly across the table.
He looked exactly as she remembered.
Focused.
Controlled.
Unapproachable.
He barely glanced up when she entered.
"How is your mother?"
"Better."
A brief nod.
Nothing more.
She moved toward the opposite side of the room.
For a while, silence settled between them.
Not hostile.
Not comfortable.
Just present.
Malissa opened a storage folder she'd brought from her room.
Pages spilled onto the coffee table.
Sketches.
Design concepts.
Fabric notes.
Ideas she had collected over the years.
Dreams she had never had the chance to chase.
Across the room, Alexander looked up briefly.
"What is that?"
She hesitated.
"Old designs."
His gaze lingered.
"Fashion?"
She nodded.
"From university."
He returned to his screen.
Several minutes passed.
Then:
"You never used them?"
The question caught her off guard.
"No."
"Why?"
Her fingers brushed one of the sketches.
A dress she had designed years ago.
Before everything fell apart.
Before hospitals.
Before prison.
Before survival became more important than ambition.
"There were other priorities."
Alexander said nothing.
The conversation ended there.
Both returned to their work.
The silence remained.
Across the city, Clarissa Marquez sat inside an upscale restaurant overlooking Skyline Avenue.
Helena sat across from her.
Elegant as always.
Composed as always.
A glass of sparkling water rested beside her untouched plate.
Clarissa barely touched her lunch.
Her attention remained fixed on the information she'd received moments earlier.
"He cancelled meetings?"
The executive assistant nodded.
"Several."
Clarissa frowned.
"For what?"
"A hospital visit."
The answer came casually.
As though it meant nothing.
Clarissa's expression hardened.
"A hospital?"
"Yes."
The assistant hesitated.
"With Miss Fisher."
Silence.
Helena lifted her glass calmly.
Clarissa stared.
"You're sure?"
"Quite sure."
The assistant excused herself shortly afterward.
Leaving the two women alone.
Clarissa's jaw tightened.
"He never does that."
Helena remained calm.
"No."
"He hates hospitals."
"Yes."
Clarissa leaned back.
Frustration flickered across her face.
She didn't understand it.
And she hated not understanding things.
Helena studied her quietly.
"Watch carefully."
Clarissa looked at her aunt.
Helena's expression never changed.
"People reveal themselves eventually."
Evening settled over Pacifica Heights.
The city lights illuminated the skyline.
Inside the penthouse, Alexander remained at work.
Mike entered carrying a tablet.
"A new article was published."
Alexander didn't immediately look up.
"And?"
Mike placed the device on the table.
Photographs filled the screen.
The hospital entrance.
Malissa.
Him.
The previous day.
Headlines crowded the page.
MARQUEZ HEIR SPOTTED DURING PRIVATE HOSPITAL VISIT
MYSTERY WOMAN RETURNS TO THE SPOTLIGHT
WHO WAS INSIDE THE HOSPITAL?
He scrolled silently.
Comments filled the screen.
Some curious.
Some supportive.
Others less kind.
She's obviously after his money.
Why does she always look miserable?
She doesn't belong beside him.
Another gold digger.
Alexander's gaze paused.
Only briefly.
Then he continued reading.
"The reporters haven't identified the patient," Mike said.
"They're trying."
"Remove anything related to the patient."
"We already started."
Alexander nodded.
His attention remained on the comments.
One in particular lingered.
Another woman chasing Marquez money.
His expression didn't change.
But Mike noticed the slight pause.
A small thing.
Almost invisible.
"Anything else?" Mike asked.
Alexander handed back the tablet.
"Remove anything targeting her personally."
Mike looked at him.
Just for a second.
Then:
"Understood."
Outside, the city continued moving beneath the night sky.
Inside the penthouse, the media storm was growing.
Clarissa was watching.
Helena was waiting.
And Malissa remained completely unaware.