Chapter 4

It was a gloomy July day. A typhoon had just swept through the city, and rain poured relentlessly.

I sat in the living room. Beside me was a box of lemon cakes I'd bought for Mom. Suddenly, my phone on the coffee table began vibrating nonstop.

I answered it. The voice on the other end was shaking.

"Ms. Sinclair, we're so sorry! After your mother woke up, she realized the blanket wasn't hers and completely lost control. She trashed the entire room, injured two caretakers, and then climbed over the back wall and escaped!"

My mind went blank.

"What do you mean the blanket wasn't hers?"

"The dark gray one… The pattern was identical, but the moment Mrs. Sinclair touched it, she knew it wasn't hers. She kept screaming that it wasn't the right one, that it wasn't hers.

"There's a severe storm now, and the hillside behind the facility is at risk of landslides. All the surveillance cameras are down, and our staff can't get up there."

I stopped listening. My fingers were already dialing Julian's number.

It rang several times before he answered. In the background, I could hear the deafening roar of concert speakers and the screams of thousands of fans.

"Audrey? What's wrong? It's loud here. Speak up."

My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. I demanded, "Where's my mom's blanket? Did you take it?"

There was a brief pause on the other end before Julian spoke casually, "Oh, that. Rebecca's play starts soon. Her production team couldn't find the right prop. The pattern of that blanket is impossible to get these days.

"Where was I supposed to find another one on short notice? We only borrowed it for a day. I had someone replace your mom's one with a premium cashmere blanket. It costs a hundred times more than that old handmade thing, and it's warmer too."

He even laughed, then added, "How's a psychiatric patient supposed to know the difference between one blanket and another? Why are you making such a scene over it?"

"Julian, my mom is missing. She ran into the hills. And the hills are flooding."

There wasn't a trace of panic in his voice. He simply replied, "Then, tell the facility to find her. Call the police. Call search and rescue. What are you calling me for?"

"Julian!" I screamed. "That blanket was her life!"

Beep. The line went dead. He had hung up impatiently.

I grabbed an umbrella and ran into the storm. The wind flipped the umbrella inside out within seconds, so I threw it aside and kept running toward Serenity Rehabilitation Center.

The road behind the hills had already been half-destroyed.

Mud swallowed my calves. Thorns tore through my sleeves and cut my cheeks. But I couldn't feel any of it.

My entire life, I had lived without ever feeling pain. I couldn't even pinch myself to check whether I was having a nightmare.

There was only one image in my mind—Mom curled up in the darkness, without that blanket. She thought the fire had come back. She thought Dad was gone. She thought there was no one left to protect her.

"Mom! Mom, where are you?"

It was 3:00 am. At the bottom of the cliff, where the mudslide had eroded the hills, a curled-up figure was trapped between the boulders.

I slid down, my kneecap slamming into the rock with a dull thud.

Mom was clutching something tightly in both hands. They were pieces of the expensive cashmere blanket.

She had torn it apart. Because it wasn't hers. It wasn't the protection Dad had left her.

Her face had been crushed by the rocks so badly that she was barely recognizable. Her eyes were still open, her pupils dilated and frozen in her final moment of terror. Her fingernails were packed with dirt.

She must've crawled for a long time. She must've struggled through the darkness and pouring rain for a long time, screaming as she searched for that blanket, the one thing that could make her believe she wouldn't be burned alive.

I knelt in the muddy water and lifted her into my arms. Her body was cold and stiff.

I pressed my cheek against her mud-covered forehead. There was no warmth left.

In my pocket, my phone lit up inside its waterproof pouch. Julian was calling.

I answered. The noise of the concert in the background had faded into the quiet hum of a car engine.

"Audrey, Rebecca found out you were upset earlier. She felt so guilty that she cried for ages. I've already had someone send the blanket back to the rehabilitation center. It'll arrive first thing tomorrow morning."

He paused, as if soothing an unreasonable child, then added, "Don't be angry anymore. There's a huge storm right now. Be good and come home. I'll give you whatever you want, okay?"

I lowered my head, pressing Mom's cold hand against my cheek. Rainwater slipped between her fingers, washing away the last traces of warmth.

I spoke into the phone, my voice soft and calm, "No need. She's dead."