Chapter 5: Holding On

My body lurches awake like it’s fighting to survive.

Something is wrong.

Terribly wrong.

My lungs burn as I drag in a shaky breath, my chest rising sharply against the stiff hospital sheets. For a moment my mind feels blank—foggy and sluggish, like I’ve been dragged out of a deep, suffocating sleep.

Then I hear it.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The steady rhythm of the heart monitor fills the room.

Relief flickers briefly through my chest.

The machine is back on.

But the comfort lasts only a second before panic creeps back in.

Wait.

When did I fall asleep?

I don’t remember closing my eyes.

The last thing I remember is the darkness in the room… Vance’s fingers tightening painfully around my hand.

Then Anya’s voice.

Her laughter.

Their conversation.

Between the vitamins, the tea, and that little renovation project…

My stomach twists violently.

My study.

The renovation.

And Vance’s whisper brushing against my ear.

You were supposed to die quietly.

My heart stutters at the memory.

But I don’t remember falling asleep after that.

My body feels heavier than before, like something is pressing me deeper into the mattress. Even lifting my fingers feels impossible. My vision swims as I struggle to focus on the dim outline of the room.

The lights are still off.

The room is quiet except for the steady beeping beside me.

My eyelids droop despite my desperate effort to keep them open.

Why am I so tired?

I already slept… didn’t I?

My gaze drifts upward until it lands on the IV bag hanging beside the bed. Clear liquid drips steadily through the tube leading to my arm.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Each drop disappears into the line, vanishing into my veins.

A cold unease settles in my chest.

Something about it feels wrong.

Very wrong.

My fingers twitch weakly against the sheets as I try to lift my arm.

But my body refuses to obey.

Footsteps approach my bedside.

“As agreed, I’ve wired the money into your shell business. Thank you, Dr. Law.”

“And the records?” the doctor asks quietly. “All evidence of my involvement?”

“Yes,” Anya replies smoothly. “All three years of it wiped. You have my word.”

“Good.” A brief pause follows. “Well, I’ll leave you be. Oh—and Anya…”

“Yes?”

“The final phase will commence tonight.”

“Very good,” she replies with a sharp little laugh.

My blood runs cold.

The heart monitor betrays me, its beeping quickening as panic surges through my body.

I hear Anya sigh before clicking her tongue.

“Oh? You weren’t meant to hear all that,” she says mockingly. “But don’t worry… your father has entrusted you to me. So you’ll see him again.”

I can’t believe this.

My best friend of eighteen years.

After everything we’d been through together… every secret shared, every hardship we helped each other survive.

The betrayal feels worse than the pain in my body.

I manage to shed a few silent tears.

Some fall for the friendship I thought I had.

Others burn with anger.

A few reach the corner of my mouth, stinging against my cracked lips.

“Thirsty?” Anya asks sweetly. “Here. The least I can do is give you some water.”

She lifts a bottle with a straw attached and presses it to my lips. I drink greedily despite the burn in my throat.

Behind her, Dr. Law steps closer.

He studies the IV line for a moment before calmly detaching the bag.

My stomach drops.

Instead, he produces a syringe and connects it directly to the tube.

A cold sensation spreads through my arm as he slowly pushes the plunger.

Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision.

Then—

My father’s voice explodes through the room.

“Gastric cancer?! Irreversible?! Palliative care?! I will not accept this diagnosis!”

Fuck. I must've dosed off again. Wait, Did I hear that right?

I hold my breath. This just makes me feel dizzy and nauseated.

“Doctor Law!” Anya cries dramatically. “Please, there must be a way to reverse this!”

“Please save my wife,” Vance adds desperately. “I can’t live without her.”

Their performance is Oscar-worthy.

It makes me sick.

“How long?” my father demands. “How long do we have to fix this?”

A different voice speaks this time—calm, professional.

“I’m going to be gently honest. Based on our observations, Charlotte is already in what we call the active dying phase. Our priority now is comfort.”

“No!” my father roars.

The sound of his chair scraping violently against the floor echoes through the room.

“Get me another doctor. Get me another palliative care team. I want a second opinion and solutions that result in my daughter living.”

His voice breaks on the last word.

“My daughter.”

“Mr. Hawkins,” the doctor says softly, “it’s irreversible. She likely has between a few hours and a few days.”

“No…” my father whispers hoarsely.

Silence follows except for the steady beeping of the monitor.

Then heavy footsteps approach my bed.

My father’s hand wraps around mine.

His grip is firm, but trembling.

“Charlie… sweetheart, can you hear me?”

My chest tightens at the nickname from my childhood.

“You’re stronger than this,” he says, voice cracking. “You’ve fought harder battles your whole life.”

He exhales shakily.

“You remember when you fell off that horse when you were ten?” he murmurs. “Broke your arm clean through.”

A broken laugh escapes him.

“The doctor said you wouldn’t ride again for months.”

His fingers tighten around mine.

“You climbed right back on that horse the next day.”

Another pause.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers.

“You don’t give up.”

His voice drops lower.

“So don’t you dare give up on me now, Charlotte.”

Something warm lands on the back of my hand.

My father is crying.

My mind spins.

They were never planning to murder me violently.

No blood.

No evidence.

Just a perfectly staged illness.

A slow, invisible death.

The perfect crime.

I try to squeeze my father’s hand.

I try to tell him I’m still here.

But my body won’t move.

My thoughts grow heavier.

The voices in the room begin to blur together.

Darkness creeps closer.

If I survive this…

I swear I will destroy every single one of them.

I take one last deep breath and cling to that thought as everything fades.