Despite barely sleeping, my body clock woke me at dawn.

After making breakfast for Derek's parents, I said casually, "Mom, Dad -- Derek mentioned that the next time he comes home, he'd like to take me to get our marriage license. I hope you'd be willing to come as witnesses."

The two of them exchanged a glance, their expressions unchanged. "We'll see when he gets back."

I nodded and didn't press further.

Even though we'd lived under the same roof for years, we rarely had real conversations. We only sat together at meals, and whenever I tried to warm up to them, they always pulled away.

When Jamie was born, Derek hadn't made it home, but they had stayed at the hospital.

Still, they never seemed particularly close to Jamie either.

I used to think nothing of it. I didn't want to assume the worst about two people who had helped me, and I chalked it up to personality.

Now, looking back, the red flags were everywhere.

They never once asked about our marriage plans.

There wasn't a single childhood photo of Derek anywhere in the house.

Derek's accent was completely different from theirs.

Before, I hadn't paid attention, hadn't asked questions. I'd even made up excuses for them in my own head.

Now every one of those details was a thorn in my chest.

After breakfast, I went to the kitchen to do the dishes. I turned on the faucet, then tiptoed to their bedroom door.

It was slightly ajar. Low voices drifted out.

"...Why is she suddenly bringing up marriage?"

"Who knows. Maybe Mr. Derek promised her."

"Poor girl. If he actually married her, she could live a comfortable life."

"That's true. We've seen how hard she works over these past few years. But we're not really his grandparents, are we?"

"Don't say that. When her father was being treated, if Mr. Derek had really wanted to help, the Sterlings could have kept that man alive for years -- decades, even."

"Forget helping -- that liver donor her father found? He had it buried."

"Enough. It's not our place to speak on the family's business."

I stood outside the door. My mind went blank.

I had believed that even if Derek had lied to me about everything else, at least when it came to my father's treatment, he had tried his hardest.

I had even thought that because of that -- if he was willing to explain, willing to change -- maybe we could still make this work.

I never imagined that even the debt I thought I owed him was manufactured. That it was all a performance. Worse than that -- it was cruelty disguised as kindness.

He had buried my father's donor match. How could he?

Back then, he was right there beside me every single night, his eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, telling me to hang on, that there was still hope.

I had always believed that meeting him was life finally throwing me a lifeline.

But it wasn't a lifeline.

It was a noose.

I thought of my father's final days.

He lay in that hospital bed, wasted to nothing but bone, and still held my hand and said, "Don't be scared, sweetheart. Daddy's fine."

He was in so much pain. The fluid kept building in his abdomen no matter how many times they drained it.

But God, he wanted to live. He knew that if he was gone, I'd be all alone in this world.

Every time the doctor made rounds, he'd look up with those desperate eyes and ask, "Any news? Is there any news?"

There had been news.

It had been intercepted -- by the man who held me and cried and said, "I'm sorry."

The voices in the room had gone quiet at some point.

Frank and Martha opened the door and found me on the floor, slumped against the wall. The kitchen faucet was still running.

My eyes were red, but not a single tear fell.

I looked up at them, and I said, slowly and deliberately: "Tell Derek that Jamie is sick. Tell him to come home."

I didn't wait for their reaction.

I went to the kitchen, turned off the water, and walked to my room to pack.

If these six years were all a lie, then I was done.

But what he owed me -- I was going to collect every last bit of it.