Chapter 4

I clutched my phone so tightly that my nails dug into my palm.

“Mom, stay calm. I’m on my way right now.”

I hung up, ignored Eira behind me, and turned to rush out.

I stood at the roadside and hailed a cab.

When I arrived at the hospital, I saw my mother sitting on a chair outside the operating room. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying.

I walked over and hugged her. I could feel her entire body trembling.

“Mom, what happened to Dad?”

She was crying too much to talk and could only shake her head helplessly in my direction.

The doctor, Dr. Roy Marshall, came out of the operating room and removed his mask with a grave expression.

“Mr. Whittle is in critical condition. He needs surgery, but we don’t have the right specialist for him in this hospital.

“If we can get a top expert to lead the surgery, we might have a chance.”

My mother’s grip on my hand tightened.

“Mom, don’t panic. I’m calling Jordan right now. I’ll get the best doctor there is.”

I walked to a corner and hesitantly called Jordan.

He picked it up very quickly.

“Jordan, my father—”

“How dare you call me? You knew Eira had a heart condition, and you still hit her.

“Do you know she had an attack and is now in the hospital? Are you trying to kill another person?”

My hand holding the phone froze.

“No, Jordan, that’s not it. My father is in a coma. Can you please contact a specialist for his surgery?”

“That’s enough!” he said coldly.

“Are you trying to use your own father’s health to play the victim right now? That’s pathetic.

“Eira still hasn’t woken up. You better hope she’s okay!”

I stood there, staring blankly at the screen after the call ended.

When I tried to dial back, it would not go through.

After several attempts, my heart sank completely.

When my mother learned that I could not find a specialist for my father, she collapsed on the hallway chair and sobbed uncontrollably.

Not long after, Dr. Marshall came out of the operating room again. This time, he remained silent for a long moment.

“Mr. Whittle’s brain trauma was severe. We did everything we could.”

I had heard the same thing three years ago.

When my mother heard that, her body gave out, and she collapsed.

I reached out to catch her, but I realized that I had no strength left in me either.

Everything around me started to feel distant and surreal.

I could not make out Dr. Marshall’s following words.

I could not hear anything at all.

The only thing I could do was stand there. My dry eyes stung with a dull ache.

I wanted to cry, but not a single tear would come out.

The arrangements for my father’s funeral were quickly made.

That very night, he went from being a six-foot man to a small urn of ashes.

I placed the urn on the table in our old family home.

My mother was still lying in bed.

Dr. Marshall gave her something to calm her nerves and told her to get plenty of rest.

I poured her a glass of water and set it by the bedside.

Her eyes were closed, but I knew too well that she was still awake.

“Mom, I’m stepping out for a bit.”

She did not respond.

It was already late at night and very quiet outside. Few cars were on the road.

I walked to the bridge near where my father used to take me flying kites when I was little.

He used to say that no matter how high a kite flew, I had to keep the string held tight in my hand.

It was the same for people. I must never forget the way home.

But now, the string that had been holding me had snapped.

I leaned against the railing. The cold breeze blew past me and made me shiver all over.

I heard footsteps behind me.

I did not turn around.

Then, a tremendous force shoved me hard from behind.

The feeling of weightlessness hit me all at once.

In my daze, I only caught a glimpse of a dark figure.

...

Late that night, Jordan was tending to Eira in the hospital room when he received a call from the police.

“Is this a family member of Clara Whittle? Someone reported that she jumped into the river.”