Chapter 4

On the day of my dad's follow-up appointment, Juan promised to accompany me to the post-surgery consultation. He said he would be there at ten in the morning.

At nine thirty, I pushed the wheelchair and waited at the entrance to the rehab department.

Dad was in better spirits. His crooked mouth moved as he asked me, "Is Juan very busy?"

I covered his knees with a blanket. "Yes. He's busy."

At five minutes past ten, he still was not there.

At twenty past ten, the doctor called our number.

I called Juan. The first call went unanswered, and the second was declined. On the third call, he finally answered. The background was very quiet, as if he was in a private room.

"Vivian, something came up."

I looked at the flashing number by the consultation room door. "The doctor's waiting. You have the documents for the follow-up appointment."

Last night, he said he was worried I would lose them, so he put them in his briefcase himself.

The other end of the call went quiet. "Whitney cut her wrist."

My grip on the phone slowly tightened. "Is it serious?"

"The wound isn't deep, but she's emotionally very unstable." His voice was tired, and I could hear the blame underneath it. "Last night, she saw the message about you wanting to put the wedding on hold. She thought she had caused it and broke down."

I closed my eyes. "Then what about the documents?"

"I'll have my assistant send them over," he said.

"How long?" I asked.

He then answered, "Half an hour."

The consultation room door opened, and the doctor looked at me. "Are the documents still not here? There are other patients after you."

Dad sat in the wheelchair and struggled to raise his hand to pat me. "It's fine. We can wait."

On the phone, Whitney's voice came faintly. "Juan, don't blame Vivian. It's my fault."

Juan's voice softened at once. "It's not your fault."

Not her fault.

Then whose fault was it? Mine?

I shouldn't have put the wedding on hold. I shouldn't have made her feel guilty. I shouldn't have asked for my father's documents on the day of his follow-up exam.

I apologized to the doctor. "I'm sorry. We'll reschedule."

The doctor frowned. "Post-surgery follow-up appointments can't be delayed without a good reason. You need to take this seriously."

Take this seriously.

I pushed Dad outside. The wheelchair rolled over the seams between the floor tiles, making one dull sound after another.

Dad said quietly, "Vivian, maybe the wedding should go on as planned. I'm slowing you down."

I stopped in front of the elevator. I felt as though something was choking me. "Dad, this isn't your fault."

"Juan is a good man. He's just too dutiful and responsible," Dad said as he looked at me, his eyes cloudy but earnest. "Your mom left early. What I fear most is that no one will care for you. Don't ruin your marriage because of me."

I crouched down and straightened the corner of his blanket. "What if he can't take care of me?"

Dad froze.

The elevator doors opened, and Juan's assistant hurried over and handed me the folder with the documents. "Ms. Thomas, Dr. Shaw asked me to send this over. And this, too."

He handed me another white envelope. I opened it, and inside was a confirmation sheet for the wedding schedule.

Juan's name had already been signed at the bottom.

Beside the bride's vows was a handwritten note.

[Whitney goes onstage to give a speech and thank the couple for years of care.]

I stared at the line and suddenly wanted to laugh.

My wedding.

She was going onstage to thank us for taking care of her.

"Dr. Shaw said the schedule shouldn't be changed again. Ms. Jackson can't handle any more stress right now," the assistant said cautiously.

I held the folder to my chest, the paper corner pressing against me. "What else did he say?"

The assistant hesitated. "He said you're not in a good mood lately, so we should humor you for now."

Humor me for now.

Like an unreasonable patient.

Dad saw the schedule sheet, and his face paled. "Vivian..."

I folded the schedule and put it into my bag. "Dad, I'll take you back to your ward."

In the afternoon, Juan finally came. He stood at the doorway, carrying my dad's favorite soup.

"The follow-up appointment has been rescheduled for tomorrow. I'll come with you myself."

I looked at him. "What about Whitney?"

"She's asleep," he said as he put the soup down and walked up to me. "Today was my fault, but Whitney really almost had an accident. Vivian, when someone's life is at stake, don't argue over who comes first."

I nodded. "Alright."

He seemed relieved. "I looked over the wedding schedule. My mom added Whitney's speech. She meant well. If you don't like it, I can delete it."

"It's fine," I said.

Juan was stunned for a bit.

I took the engagement ring out of my bag and placed it on the nightstand. The ring rolled once and stopped beside the soup container. "Juan, we'll let the wedding go on as planned."

His expression eased. "It's good that you've thought it through."

He picked up the ring, about to put it back on me. I pulled my hand back.

"Leave it for now. My hand is a little swollen."

He didn't force me.

That night, after Dad fell asleep, I went to the nurses' station and signed the transfer application. The earliest ferry from Harbor City to Mistport was at five forty in the morning.

I left the ring on the bedside cabinet and took Dad's medical records with me.

Reaching the end of the corridor, Juan's call came in. The screen lit up, then went dark as I did not pick it up.

I pressed the power button.