Chapter 2

Bastian came by on Monday morning.

For once, Leona had not gone into the office and was on a conference call in the study. Bastian walked in carrying a gift basket of health supplements and immediately spotted Jonas flipping through a medical book.

"Jonas, I heard you went through something awful the other day, and I've been worried sick. Honestly, Leona should know better than to leave you to deal with something like that alone."

"Thanks for your concern," Jonas said, his voice just as calm and impossible to read.

Bastian was clearly not satisfied with that response.

He stepped closer, his gaze landing on Jonas' hands again, and his tone grew even more sympathetic.

"Seeing your hands like this really breaks my heart, Jonas. Those hands won so many awards and saved so many lives. Now, though... I guess you'll never hold a scalpel again, huh?"

Once, those words would have broken him.

Now, Jonas only looked up and said calmly, "Yeah."

Bastian was caught off guard.

Leona spoke up. "Jonas, Bastian is just worried about you."

"I know." Jonas closed the book and stood. "You two sit. I'll go check on the kitchen. Edna has the day off, so I made soup."

Bastian watched him walk away, a shadow flickering in his eyes. He turned to Leona and said softly, "Leona, I think Jonas still won't forgive me. Does he think this is all my fault?"

"Don't overthink it. He's just been... a little different lately."

Leona stared after Jonas.

Jonas really had made soup, a beef and root vegetable soup that he had left to simmer for three hours. With his hands the way they were, he had cut himself while chopping the vegetables.

When the soup was served, Bastian accepted his bowl with a smile. "Your cooking is as good as ever, Jonas."

He took a sip.

Two minutes later, Bastian suddenly clutched his stomach and curled up, his face deathly pale. "It hurts... Leona, my stomach really hurts..."

"Jonas!" Leona shot to her feet. "What did you put in it?"

"I didn't put anything in it." Jonas looked at Bastian, his expression calm.

"Don't you dare lie to me!" Leona grabbed his untouched bowl and threw the whole thing in his face.

The soup was scalding hot, and Jonas did not even have time to dodge before it splashed across his face and neck. His skin instantly felt like it was on fire. The pain made his vision go black, and he staggered into the coffee table.

"Daddy!" Remy came running down the stairs. When he saw Jonas' bright red face and the soup dripping from his chin, he burst into terrified tears. "Mommy! What are you doing?"

Leona looked at Jonas' rapidly swelling face, her hand trembling. However, Bastian let out a weak groan that immediately pulled her attention back.

"Leona... I can't breathe..."

"Somebody call a doctor!" Leona shouted at the staff, then bent down, scooped Bastian up, and started for the door.

"Mommy! Take Daddy to the hospital first!" Remy threw himself at her and clung to her leg.

Leona glanced back at the blisters rising on Jonas' face, and her grip tightened without her meaning to.

Bastian clutched her hand. "Leona, I need to lie down. I can't sit up..."

Leona shook her son off. "Have them send another car for your father. Bastian needs to lie down, and there's no room!"

Remy fell to the floor, struck his head on the corner of the table, and burst into wails.

Leona hesitated, but only for a second. She glanced down at Bastian, then ran out the door without looking back. The roar of the engine faded into the distance.

Jonas lay sprawled on the floor, his face and neck burning so badly that his whole body shook. He groped his way toward his son and pulled him close with the arm he could still move.

Remy was crying so hard that he had the hiccups. His little hands reached for Jonas' face but did not dare touch it. "Daddy... does it hurt?"

Jonas could not say a word. He lowered his head and buried his face against his son's small shoulder.

The clock on the wall ticked on. It was an hour before the family doctor finally arrived.

The doctor sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of Jonas' face. "These are second-degree burns! You need to get to a hospital right now!"

Jonas shook his head, his voice hoarse. "Check on my son first."

Remy had a swollen lump on his forehead. He had cried himself out and fallen asleep in Jonas' arms.

Jonas clenched his teeth and did not make a sound as the doctor treated his burns. When the ointment touched his skin, it felt as though it were being peeled away, yet he only kept his eyes open and stared up at the ornate crystal chandelier on the ceiling.

Leona had picked out that chandelier herself when they got married.

She had said, "Our home will always be full of light."

The chandelier was still lit, but the home was gone.

Once the doctor finished treating him, he hesitated. "Dr. Kimball, these burns... They might scar."

Jonas answered calmly, "It's okay."

After the doctor left, Jonas slowly walked over to the mirror.

From his left cheek down to his neck, the skin was bright red, covered in blisters and swollen out of shape. It was ugly.

He stared at his reflection for a long time, then went to the study and opened the safe.

Inside was a document, and beneath it lay an old photo of a 20-year-old Jonas in a white coat, standing outside an operating room with his eyes shining like stars.

He picked up the photo and looked at it for a long time, then he tore it to pieces.

As he dropped the scraps into the trash can, his phone buzzed with an email from the lab. [Dr. Kimball, your visa has been approved. You are cleared to depart on the tenth of next month.]

He replied: [Received.]

After sending the reply, he went to his son's room.

Remy was sleeping fitfully, still sniffling in his dreams.

Jonas sat on the edge of the bed and gently patted his back with his uninjured right hand.

He spoke in a whisper, as if to his son and to himself at the same time. "Remy, I'm going to take you away from here very soon. Just hold on a little longer."

Outside the window, the sky had gone completely dark.

The house was so quiet that he could hear the slow beat of his own heart, one thump after another, like a countdown.