Chapter 3

In the evening, my parents came to the hospital after all.

Not to see me. To pick up Chloe's follow-up medication.

Mom passed by my room and through the half-open door saw me lying in bed. Her steps paused.

"Jane, why haven't you gone home yet? Chloe's been asking about you all afternoon. Are you sulking with her again?"

"The doctor wants me to stay for observation."

"Doctors always like to make things sound worse than they are." Dad stood behind her. "And you—how old are you now? Still throwing tantrums like when you were little."

I said nothing.

Dad handed me a document.

"The company transfer is complete. Just sign the final confirmation, and the factory will be Chloe's responsibility from here on."

I took the pen and signed my name.

"And these." I handed the remaining asset disposal authorizations to the lawyer, to pass on to Mom and Dad. "Everything's been handled."

Dad's expression softened.

"Now that's more like it. If you'd been this sensible earlier, this family wouldn't be in the state it's in."

"But remember, you're the one giving these up. Don't come crying to us later. And don't let outsiders laugh at us, saying we mistreated you."

"I know."

I closed the last page, my fingertips pressing the corner of the paper.

The pain in my chest had shifted from a dull ache to a burning sensation. Every breath felt like a thin needle passing through my heart.

But they couldn't see it.

Or rather, as long as they didn't look, they could pretend nothing was happening.

Then Mom suddenly sat down on the edge of the bed and reached up to stroke my hair, one pass after another, gently.

"That's better. No more fighting."

Her fingertips carried a familiar warmth.

When I was little, every time I had an episode and burned with fever, she would stroke my hair like this and stay by my bedside all night.

A long-lost tenderness welled up, and my nose stung.

For a moment, I almost believed that if I were just sensible enough, this family could go back to the way it was.

But my body didn't give me time to indulge.

A rush of something sweet and metallic surged up my throat.

Warm liquid slid from my nose and dripped onto the documents on the table.

"Jane?" Mom's hand froze midair.

Dad took two seconds to react, then fumbled for tissues. "Why is she suddenly having a nosebleed?"

I tilted my head back. Through my blurred vision, I saw two faces finally panicking for me.

So they did still care.

Taking advantage of that moment of panic, I spoke softly.

"Dad, Mom."

"If my illness can't be cured, if I really die... would you be sad?"

The room went silent.

Dad's hand, holding out the tissue, stopped in midair. His face sank inch by inch.

"Jane!" He slapped the tissue onto the nightstand. "Is that something to joke about?"

Mom's expression changed too.

"Your illness has been stable for over twenty years. The doctors haven't said anything."

"It's just a nosebleed. You're talking about death the moment something happens. Who are you putting on a show for?"

Dad frowned, his tone turning cold.

"Jane, your illness is a minor issue. It can still be cured in the future."

"Next time, don't play these games in front of the family. If Chloe were here, you'd really scare her."

I clutched the blood-soaked tissue and slowly lowered my eyes.

That moment of panic earlier was just their instinctive reaction to being startled.

Once they recovered, what they worried about was still Chloe. Afraid I would scare her.

Just then, Mom's phone rang.

She glanced at the screen and stood immediately. "Chloe's awake. She says she's not feeling well."

Dad grabbed his coat. "Let's go check on her first."

Mom walked to the door, then looked back at me.

"Come home soon. Chloe says she wants to get along with you. Don't make her sad."

They didn't want Chloe to be sad. But they never thought about me.

I looked at her, the metallic taste still lodged in my throat.

"Okay."

After they left, the lawyer packed up the documents and asked me quietly, "Miss Jane, are you sure you want to leave alone?"

"I'm not alone."

Mia was already waiting downstairs.

She helped me carry my luggage and took me to the small house in the old harbor district that hadn't been lived in for a long time.

A thin layer of dust covered the room. She rolled up her sleeves, made the bed, and opened the windows for air.

"You lie down first. I'll take care of the rest."

I leaned against the bed and watched her pull the curtains open.

I dug a small black USB drive out of my belongings and tucked it into the innermost pocket of my bag.

Mia glanced at it but didn't ask.

"Mia, you don't have to stay with me the whole time."

"I want to."

"I only have one day left."

Her hands stopped. She stood with her back to me for a moment.

"Then I'll stay with you until it's over."

That night, Dad sent a message saying Chloe's treatment was scheduled for the next morning and asked me to come home.

[She wants the whole family there. You're her sister. Don't be absent at a time like this.]

Another message followed immediately.

[Don't make Chloe cry again. You've already broken your mother's heart.]

I didn't reply.

In the middle of the night, the pain suddenly worsened.

I grabbed the bedsheet, trying not to make a sound. Mia woke anyway. She turned on the bedside lamp and felt my cold hand.

"I'm taking you to the hospital."

"Just a little longer."

"You've waited long enough."

She draped a coat over my shoulders and helped me out of bed.

I didn't refuse.

The emergency room lights were blindingly white. The nurse had me lie on a gurney. Mia held my bag and stayed by my side.

The doctor looked at the test results, his expression shifting. He immediately called over several medical staff.

"The patient's heart could stop at any moment. Get her to resuscitation now."

Through the door, Mia gripped my hand, her voice shaking.

"Jane, I'll be right outside."

I wanted to say okay, but my throat felt blocked.

Before the door closed, I heard my phone buzz in my bag.