Chapter 3

In the single room at the end of the third-floor corridor of Serenity Rehabilitation Center, Mom was curled up against the innermost corner of the bed, trembling all over.

She was wrapped tightly in a dark gray fire-resistant blanket. Only her pale face was exposed. Her fingers dug deep into the weave of the blanket, her knuckles white.

"Mom, it's me, Audrey." I sat down beside her and gently placed my hand on the back of hers.

She didn't look up. But her body relaxed slightly.

"No fire… No fire…"

Back then, during the house fire, Dad had given Mom the family's only fire-resistant blanket. That was the reason she survived.

Ever since, the blanket had become her emotional lifeline. She kept it wrapped around herself all day and night, saying that it felt like Dad was there protecting her.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway. One was heavy, and one was light. The steady clack of dress shoes mixed with the sharp click of high heels.

The door opened. Julian walked in, with Rebecca close behind.

The moment she entered, she looked around with obvious disdain, nose wrinkled. Then, her gaze landed on Mom's blanket, and her eyes lit up. She excitedly tugged on Julian's sleeve.

"Jules, look at the pattern on that blanket! It's exactly what the prop department wants for the lead role in my play next week. We've looked at dozens of replacements, but they all look too new. None of them have that worn, vintage look. If we could use this one, the stage effect would be incredible."

Then, she rushed forward and yanked the blanket from Mom's body.

Mom's entire body jolted. She let out a terrified scream that pierced through the entire room. She scrambled backward until her back pressed into the wall. Her fingernails dug so hard into the blanket that it left deep furrows in the fabric, and blood seeped out.

I shot to my feet and slapped Rebecca's hand away. She stumbled backward into Julian's chest.

I stepped in front of the bed, standing tall and firm, and glared at them. "Get out. This blanket is my mom's lifeline."

Rebecca bit her lower lip, looking hurt. Instantly, tears streamed down her face. She looked at Julian with pitiful eyes. "Jules, I didn't mean to… I just thought the pattern was pretty… Audrey's yelling at me again…"

Julian patted her back reassuringly. "Alright. If she doesn't want to lend it, then forget it."

He then turned to me and said, "Audrey, don't scare Rebecca. It's just an old blanket. I'll have a good designer make a custom replica with the exact pattern. We won't touch Mrs. Sinclair's things."

I didn't answer. I turned to comfort Mom.

She was curled into a tight ball, the blanket twisted from how hard she was clutching it.

A knock sounded at the door.

The attending physician, Blake Wilson, poked his head inside. "Ms. Sinclair, do you have a moment? We'd like to adjust your mother's medication dosage. There are a few proposals that require your signature."

I glanced at Julian.

He smiled and said, "Go ahead. As long as I'm here, nobody's touching that blanket."

He paused, then lowered his voice. "You don't think I'd argue with a crazy—with your mother, do you?"

I hesitated. But he sounded sincere—so sincere that for a moment, I almost believed he was still the same man who could shield me from every storm.

I nodded, then followed Dr. Wilson out of the room.

The paperwork took less than 15 minutes. When I returned, the room was quiet.

The lights were still off. Mom lay facing away from the door, her breathing slow and even, as though she had fallen asleep. The dark gray blanket covered her, the faded pattern still visible in the dim light.

Julian stood in the hallway, waving at me. "Mrs. Sinclair took her medication and dozed off."

He stepped closer and gently straightened the collar of my shirt, his movements gentle and natural. He continued, "Rebecca came to her senses too. She said she won't take the blanket. Let's go home. Let Mrs. Sinclair rest."

I took one last look at the figure curled beneath the blanket.

The blanket appeared right. The color was right, and so was the shape. And Mom was sleeping so peacefully. So, I didn't go back inside the room. I turned and left the rehabilitation center with Julian.

What I didn't see was that behind the closed door, Mom's eyes were wide open and filled with terror. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes, where old burn scars had left the skin permanently distorted. One drop at a time, they fell onto her pillow.