Chapter 2
When I woke up again, Ethan was the only one in the hospital room.
He was recording data, his voice calm. "Your body can't handle what they're putting you through."
I forced a smile. "I know."
Jenny's soft, pitiful sobs drifted in from the hallway. "Michael, it's all my fault. I shouldn't have eaten that cake. Stacy must be mad at me. What should I do? What if she hates me?"
Michael lowered his voice to comfort her. "It's not your fault. She's sick, and she keeps causing drama."
I closed my eyes.
The ventilator hissed, steady and relentless.
Ethan's pen stopped moving. He didn't say anything. Neither did I.
But I knew he heard it, too.
After a couple of minutes, Jenny pushed the door open, carrying a steaming bowl of soup.
She walked over to the bed, her eyes a little red from crying. "Stacy, you're finally awake."
She handed me the bowl. "I asked the kitchen to make some nourishing soup for you. Drink it while it's hot."
Her voice was gentle, and her expression was genuinely caring.
The moment her fingers brushed against mine, she jerked her hand away.
The scalding soup spilled all over the back of my hand.
The entire bowl, every last drop, poured onto the back of my right hand.
I sucked in a sharp breath from the pain.
Jenny shrieked.
She grabbed her hand and stepped back, tears pouring down her face. "Stacy, if you didn't want the soup, you could've just said it. Why did you have to knock it over? I'm burned."
Her wailing was so loud and piercing that everyone in the hallway could hear it.
Michael rushed in. The first thing he noticed was Jenny's hand, slightly red, and the broken pieces of the bowl scattered across the floor.
"Stacy, have you lost your mind? Jenny was being kind, bringing you soup, and you spilled it all over her?" He stood protectively in front of Jenny, shooting me a murderous glare.
I stared at my hand, which was already swelling and blistering, my whole body trembling from the pain.
Richard came in right after.
He saw the mess on the floor, my injured hand, and Jenny crying, his face darkening with anger. "Stacy, how could you be so self-willed?"
I didn't even try to defend myself.
There was no point in trying to reason with them.
I lifted my head and met Michael's gaze.
The overwhelming pain and humiliation broke my body again.
My breathing sped up uncontrollably. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get enough air.
I started gasping desperately, my face quickly flushing, and then turning a scary shade of blue.
Jenny hid behind Michael, her voice timid. "Michael, Stacy's faking it again. Let's get out of here. No need to stir her up."
Michael let out a cold snort. "You think that act works every time?"
Before he could finish, my eyes rolled back, my body stiffened, and I toppled right off the bed.
With a dull thud, my head struck the corner of the nightstand. Blood started pouring out, quickly staining the floor red.
The room fell eerily silent.
In the next second, Richard let out a desperate shout. "Stacy!"
Michael was dumbfounded, completely in shock.
He stood there, staring at the blood pooling on the floor, utterly lost and not knowing what to do.
Hearing the noise, Ethan burst in from the next room.
He saw blood pooling on the floor, me lying there motionless, and the Foster family standing off to the side.
He slammed his foot into Michael's chest. "Get out! Are you here to kill her?"
Jenny kept backing away in terror, her face even paler than mine.
I was carried back onto the bed and wheeled straight into the emergency room.
In a daze, I could barely make out their voices arguing, but soon everything blurred and their words faded into silence.
*****
This time, I ended up stuck in the ICU for three days.
Ethan said there was some bleeding in my head, but thankfully, it wasn't deep. If it had been just 0.4 inches over, it would've hit my brainstem.
Richard sat on a plastic chair outside the ICU for three days and three nights.
The nurses said he didn't eat or drink, and no one could persuade him.
When the nurses changed shifts on the third morning, the nurse on duty almost didn't recognize him. A large patch of his hair had turned white, and his once well-groomed face was now covered in stubble.
Michael locked himself away in the study at the Foster residence, shutting everyone out.
On my first afternoon in the regular ward, someone pushed the door open.
William Reed stood in the doorway.
He was wearing a charcoal gray suit, his hair slicked back to perfection. Jenny was right behind him in a pale pink dress, her head lowered, looking all shy and docile.
He was the fiancé my grandfather arranged for me before he passed away.
William was the heir of the Reed family, worked in investment banking, and his family was loaded.
I'd never met him before I returned to the Foster family.
After I moved back, he showed up three times, and every time, Jenny was right there with him.
William pushed the door open, with Jenny trailing behind him.
"Stacy, are you done with your drama yet?" William snapped, his voice full of impatience. He strode over to the bed and tossed a document onto the covers.
"Thanks to you, everyone in our circle is talking about Jenny, and she even lost the Foster family's brand endorsement. You need to make a statement right now, saying the whole cake thing was your own fault."