Chapter 4

On the day of Dad's follow-up appointment, Sophia promised to accompany us to the post-op consultation.

She said she would be there by 10:00 am.

By 9:30 am, I was already waiting outside the rehabilitation department with Dad in a wheelchair.

Dad seemed more spirited now. With his mouth still slightly askew, he asked, "Is Sophia busy?"

I carefully draped a blanket over his knees. "Yeah, she's busy."

10:05 am came and went, yet there was no sign of her.

By 10:20 am, the doctor began calling out patient numbers.

I dialed Sophia's number.

The first time, it went to voicemail.

The second time, she disconnected the call.

On my third attempt, she finally picked up. It sounded quiet in the background, as if she were in a private ward.

"Conrad, something came up on my end," she said.

I stared at the numbers flashing above the clinic door. "The doctor is waiting. You took the files with you."

Fearing I might lose them, she had personally tucked them into her briefcase the night before.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "Harrison slit his wrists."

My grip on the phone gradually tightened. "Is it bad?"

"The cuts aren't deep, but he's in a terrible headspace," she replied, her voice laced with fatigue and reproach. "He found out about you wanting to put the wedding on hold last night. He thinks it's all his fault and completely broke down."

I closed my eyes. "So, what about the files?"

"I'll have my assistant bring them over."

"How long?"

"Half an hour."

The clinic door swung open right then, and the doctor glanced at me. "Sir, do you still not have the files with you? There are other patients behind you."

Sitting in his wheelchair, Dad made a visible effort to raise his hand and pat my arm. "It's fine. We can wait."

Through the receiver, Harrison's faint voice drifted over. "Sophia, don't blame Conrad. It's my fault."

Sophia immediately dropped her voice to a coddling murmur. "It's not your fault."

If it wasn't his fault, whose was it? Mine?

Was I wrong for putting the wedding on hold, for making him feel guilty, or for demanding my own father's medical files on the day of his follow-up appointment?

"I'm sorry," I apologized. "We'll have to reschedule."

The doctor frowned. "A post-op consultation shouldn't be delayed. You need to take these things seriously."

I pushed Dad toward the exit, the wheels of his chair making a dull, rhythmic thud every time they crossed the gaps between the floor tiles.

"Conrad, maybe we should just go ahead with the wedding," Dad murmured. "I'm only holding you back."

I stopped right in front of the elevator, a sudden lump forming in my throat. "Dad, this has nothing to do with you."

"Sophia is a wonderful young lady. She's just loyal to a fault."

Dad looked up at me, his eyes cloudy yet earnest. "Your mother passed away young, and my biggest fear has always been leaving you with no one to look after you. Don't ruin your marriage because of me."

I crouched down to tuck the edges of his blanket back in. "What if she's the one who can't look after me?"

Dad froze.

Just then, the elevator doors slid open.

Sophia's assistant, Erica Tate, came rushing toward us, holding out a folder. "Mr. Ellery, Dr. Wilson asked me to deliver this. And this too."

She handed over a plain white envelope.

Opening it, I found a wedding itinerary confirmation form.

Sophia's signature was already penned at the very bottom. Right next to the section for the groom's vows, a handwritten note read, "Harrison to give a toast, thanking the newlyweds for their years of support."

Staring at those words, I felt a sudden urge to laugh.

It was my wedding, and her ex-boyfriend was slated to stand onstage to thank us for taking care of him.

"Dr. Wilson said not to change the itinerary again," Erica added cautiously. "Mr. Cross can't handle any emotional triggers right now."

I held the folder tight against my chest, the sharp paper edges digging through my shirt. "What else did she say?"

Erica hesitated for a second. "She said you've been in a bad headspace lately, so we should just humor you as much as possible."

Humor me? It was as if I were a difficult, irrational patient.

Dad's face went pale the moment he caught sight of that itinerary. "Conrad…"

I folded the paper neatly and slipped it into my bag. "Dad, let's get you back to your room first."

…

Sophia finally showed up later that afternoon, standing at the door of the hospital room with Dad's favorite stew.

"I rescheduled the appointment for tomorrow. I'll personally accompany you then," she said.

I looked at her. "Where's Harrison?"

"Sleeping."

Setting the food down, she walked over to stand right in front of me. "I know I was wrong, but Harrison truly almost didn't make it. Conrad, when it comes to a human life, stop keeping score of who comes first."

"Okay." I nodded.

She seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. "I looked over the itinerary. My mom added Harrison's toast, but she meant well. If you don't like it, I can take it out."

"Don't bother," I said.

Sophia blinked, visibly startled.

Pulling the engagement ring out of my bag, I set it down on the nightstand. It rolled a single turn before stopping right beside the thermal flask.

"Sophia, let's go through with the wedding," I said.

Her expression softened instantly. "I'm glad you've come to your senses."

I watched her pick up the ring, fully intending to slide it back onto my finger, before pulling my hand back. "Just leave it there for now. My fingers are swollen."

She didn't press the matter.

Late that night, after Dad had fallen asleep, I walked over to the nurses' station and signed the transfer forms.

The earliest ferry from Greenley to Mistville was scheduled for 5:40 am. Leaving the ring behind on the nightstand, I picked up Dad's medical charts.

As I reached the very end of the hallway, I received a call from Sophia.

The display lit up before fading away.

I didn't bother answering. Instead, I simply held down the power button and turned it off.