Chapter 8: A voice full of hate

Those words dug deep into my soul.

A fresh wave of tears slipped from the corners of my eyes.

For the first time since everything fell apart, someone had spoken as though my pain mattered.

Someone had looked at my broken condition and felt anger on my behalf.

Yet he was a complete stranger.

I didn't know his name.

I didn't know his face.

I didn't even know why he cared.

But somehow, his words wrapped around the shattered pieces of my heart.

I wished I could open my eyes.

Just once.

Just long enough to see him.

Who was he?

Why had he stopped for me?

Why was he helping me?

And why did his voice make me feel safe?

The questions crowded my mind.

But before I could think further, another thought struck me.

Aunt Beatrice

My chest tightened.

Aunt Beatrice!

The memory hit me like a wave.

The hospital.

The doctor's frightened expression.

The surgery.

The money.

Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

I felt panic rise inside me.

What about Aunt Beatrice?

Had she received treatment?

Had her condition worsened?

Was she alone?

I wanted to sit up.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to ask somebody.

But my body remained frozen.

No matter how desperately I tried.

Nothing moved.

Nothing.

The helplessness was torture.

Inside my mind, I was shouting.

Please.

Somebody tell me she's okay.

Please.

Then suddenly, a phone began to ring.

The sharp sound filled the room.

A chair scraped softly against the floor.

Someone picked it up.

"Hello?"

The voice belonged to a woman.

Probably one of the nurses.

There was a brief pause.

Then she spoke again.

"Doctor, I think this call is important."

Footsteps approached.

"What is it?" the doctor asked.

The nurse lowered her voice.

"The caller says she's from New York Central Hospital."

My heartbeat quickened.

Aunt Beatrice.

It had to be about Aunt Patricia.

The doctor answered the call.

I listened desperately.

"Yes, this is Doctor Williams speaking."

A pause.

Then his voice became serious.

"I see."

Another pause.

"How much is needed immediately?"

My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

Please.

Please.

Tell me she's okay.

The doctor sighed.

"Understood."

When the call ended, silence filled the room.

Then the doctor spoke.

"It's her aunt."

My breathing stopped.

"She suffered a heart attack."

The room became quiet.

"The surgery cannot be delayed any longer."

I felt tears burning behind my closed eyes.

Aunt Beatrice.

The woman who raised me.

The woman who worked extra shifts so I could stay in school.

The woman who became both mother and father after I lost my parents.

She couldn't die.

Not her.

Not the only family I had left.

Then the doctor continued.

"The hospital is requesting payment immediately."

Nobody spoke.

The room fell silent.

Until the strange man broke it.

"How much?"

The doctor answered.

"Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

My heart sank.

I already knew that number.

The number that had chased me through the entire day.

I waited for the silence.

For the hesitation.

For the refusal.

Instead, the man calmly said,

"Pay it."

The room froze.

Even I forgot how to think.

The doctor sounded surprised.

"Sir?"

"I said pay it."

His tone remained calm.

Controlled.

Certain.

"As soon as possible."

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then the doctor quickly answered,

"Yes, sir."

The man continued.

"Send someone there immediately."

"Of course."

"Make sure she receives the best care available."

"Yes, sir."

My mind went blank.

What?

Why?

Why was he doing this?

Who was this man?

He didn't know me.

He owed me nothing.

Yet he was paying for my aunt's surgery without hesitation.

Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

Just like that.

I couldn't understand it.

Nothing made sense.

Questions flooded my mind.

Who are you?

Why are you helping me?

Why do you care?

What do you want from me?

Are you real?

Or am I dreaming?

More tears slipped down my face.

This time they weren't caused by heartbreak.

They were caused by confusion.

By gratitude.

By disbelief.

The man noticed.

I knew he did.

Because his voice softened slightly.

"She'll be okay."

For some reason, hearing those words made me cry even harder.

Not physically.

I couldn't.

But inside.

Inside, I was falling apart.

Because somebody cared.

A stranger cared.

While the people I loved most had thrown me away.

After some time, the room gradually became quieter.

The doctor left.

The nurses left.

The conversations faded.

One by one, everyone disappeared.

Eventually, even the strange man left.

The room became silent.

Only the steady beeping of medical machines remained.

I didn't know how much time passed.

Minutes.

Maybe hours.

Everything felt blurry.

The door opened.

Footsteps entered the room

The person stopped near my bed.

For several moments, there was complete silence.

Then a voice spoke.

A voice filled with hatred.

Raw hatred.

The kind that made my skin crawl.

"You've taken everything from me."

My heart skipped.

Who was that?

The voice trembled with anger.

"You took my happiness."

A cold chill ran through me.

"You took my future."

I struggled to move.

Nothing happened.

Nothing.

The voice continued.

Lower now.

More dangerous.

"Do you know what you've done?"

My heartbeat thundered in my ears.

Who was this?

Why did they hate me?

"You are the reason my life is ruined."

The words struck me like a slap.

"What did I ever do to you?" I screamed silently inside my head.

The person moved closer.

I could almost feel their presence beside the bed.

"You deserve everything that happened to you."

A tear slid down my cheek.

Fear wrapped around my chest.

No.

No.

Who was this?

Why were they saying these things?

"You deserve to suffer."

The voice cracked.

As though they had been carrying this anger for a very long time.

"You deserve to die, Vivian."

My entire body went cold.

The room spun.

I desperately tried to open my eyes.

Just a little.

Just enough to see their face.

Just enough to know who hated me so much.

For the first time since I arrived at the hospital.

The person gasped.

I heard it clearly.

Then silence followed.

My heart pounded violently.

Who are you?

Who are you?

Who are you?

With every ounce of strength I had left, I tried to move my hand.