Chapter 2
I swiped at my face roughly.
That was when I realized my tears had drenched my mask.
She thrust the lollipop from her hand into mine. "Here, eat this. Mommy says candy makes shots not hurt."
I leaned down and gently tousled her soft hair.
Just as I opened my mouth to thank her, footsteps hurried closer.
A young mom scooped up the child and held her close, then shot me a wary glance.
Her voice shook a bit as she chided the girl, "The hospital's full of strangers—why'd you wander off? What if some creep noticed you and tried to snatch you away? Then what?"
But the little girl hugged her mom's neck and piped up in her babyish way, "Don't worry, Mommy. I saw this lady crying from her shot, so I came over to give her a lollipop."
The woman froze for a second, embarrassment flickering across her face. She gave me a quick nod of apology, then bustled off with the child in her arms.
Watching the mom and daughter fade down the hallway, I suddenly pictured my own mother.
If she were still alive, what would she look like today?
The thought made my eyes well up again.
A stabbing pain gripped my chest. I grabbed the medical report off my lap and made my way back to the doctor's office.
When I left the hospital, it was pushing four in the afternoon.
The sky outside was eerily dark.
A heavy downpour had kicked off at some point, turning the whole world into a smeared, warped blur.
I stood at the entrance to the outpatient building, zoning out at the wall of rain.
Just my luck!
The gusting wind flung icy droplets at my face, stinging like a slap.
By the time I reached the car, I was soaked through.
Water trickled from my hair onto the steering wheel as I shivered and drove home.
When I pushed open the door, the house was swallowed in total darkness.
I dragged myself into a hot shower, but it couldn't chase away the chills that kept rolling over me.
That night, sleep was fitful at best.
Whether it was from getting drenched and catching a chill, or the sheer dread of my diagnosis, I woke up in the wee hours with a raging fever.
In my delirious haze, my thoughts swirled into a vortex of memories.
I found myself back on the outdoor set of Winter Party three months ago.
We were filming a showdown between me and Bridget that day.
I was playing the daughter of a fallen minister who clumsily spilled a coffee cup at a palace feast, getting publicly shamed by the grand princess—Bridget's role.
A sharp wind whipped up flurries of powdery snow.
In my thin gauze dress, I knelt on the icy bluestone pavement, my fingers numb and blue from the cold.
But Bridget botched the slap scene over and over—seven NGs in a row.
My left ear was ringing from the blows, and spots swam in front of my eyes.
Even after the seventh smack, she cracked up and ruined the take again.
The director gave me an apologetic glance and barked for someone to throw a down jacket over me and ice my face.
"Oh, whoops, sorry, director."
Bridget giggled behind her hand as she apologized, "I caught sight of that extra in the back picking his nose and just lost it. Promise this is the last one—I'll ace it in one shot this time!
"Makeup!"
She beckoned the makeup artist over. "Hurry up and fix Barbra's face. She's all rosy and fresh-looking—how's that scream 'starving daughter of a disgraced official who's gone two weeks without a bite'?"
The makeup artist hurried over with her kit and whispered to me with concern, "Come on, Barbra, let's touch this up in the trailer. I whipped up some hot cocoa for you—your lips are turning blue from the cold."
Before I could get a word out, Bridget barked at her, "Who do you think you are, butting in like that? You gonna own up if we fall behind? If you can do the job, great—if not, beat it!"
The set went dead quiet.
Nobody dared stand up to her.
She was the lead my husband, Jeromy, had personally picked—the queen bee at Starlight Entertainment.
And she'd poured her own cash into the project.
Yeah, the director had cast me as the original lead.
But big deal?
When capital called the shots, even directors bent the knee.
My left cheek was on fire, and the ringing in my ear wouldn't quit.
Glaring at this arrogant woman towering over me, and the makeup artist whose eyes were brimming red but who stayed silent, a wave of blind rage surged up, throbbing in my temples.
I swung my hand and landed a solid slap across her face.
Crack!
The sharp sound reverberated through the set.
Bridget was totally caught off guard by the hit.
She reeled back, slamming into a prop stand before crashing hard to the ground.
"Ah... my back..."
Her face drained of color, she writhed on the floor in pain, both hands clutching her lower back.
The crew froze in shock.