Chapter 4
The red emergency light above the rescue room glared down at us, cold and hungry like a predator waiting for blood.
The hallway was eerily quiet.
Richard slumped onto the bench, his hands tangled in his graying hair, looking like a statue weathered to dust in an instant.
He couldn't bring himself to look at me or speak.
Fear clung to him like thick vines, wrapping tighter and tighter.
He was terrified Linda might die like that.
But what truly unsettled him was the suspicion that beneath my flawless act lay a darkness he couldn't begin to fathom.
I stood silently by his side, never taking a seat.
I stared at that red emergency light, feeling utterly calm inside.
Linda's life or death meant nothing to me now.
She was a pawn, a tool to shatter Richard's flawless image as a father.
Now, that tool had done its job.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, quick and urgent.
David had arrived.
He was dressed in a crisp suit, travel-worn but composed, his expression carrying that cool, scrutinizing edge unique to a prosecutor.
Right behind him was his wife, Emily, a gentle, kind-hearted teacher.
"Dad, Mom," David said, his voice low but heavy, like a hammer pounding straight into Richard's heart.
Richard jerked his head up, meeting David's eyes, eyes that seemed to see right through him. His lips trembled, but not a single word came out.
"David, Emily, you're here," I said, stepping forward, my voice the right mix of tired and hoarse.
Emily hurried over to steady me, worry etched all over her face. "Helen, are you okay? What happened? How did Linda suddenly—"
I shook my head and gently patted her hand, but my gaze shifted to David.
I knew, in this moment, that David was the one with the real authority here.
David looked between Richard and me, then his eyes finally landed on his father's pale face.
"Dad, explain yourself," David said. It wasn't a request. It was a command.
Richard's body trembled more. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a raspy, strangled noise, like he was choking on a fishbone.
What could he possibly say?
Would he admit Linda was his mistress all these years?
Would he admit he took care of her so badly that she ended up with another stroke, and now nobody knew if she would make it?
Would he admit he had been fooling his son for decades?
He couldn't bring himself to say it.
The thing he cared about most in his entire life was having his son, the star prosecutor, look up to him with pride and admiration.
That was his last shred of dignity as a father, the only thing he had left to hide behind.
I watched him fall apart, completely undone, and felt absolutely nothing.
I decided to give him a little help.
I let out a sigh, sounding utterly resigned. "David, don't make things harder for your dad.
"Linda is someone your dad used to work with.
"She fell sick, and her kids weren't around. She was all alone.
"Your dad's always been soft-hearted. He saw she was really down on her luck and wanted to lend her a hand.
"We never could've guessed her illness would come on so suddenly. We'd barely gotten her to the hospital when she..."
I didn't finish and gave a sympathetic look.
It all seemed plausible, every word making excuses for Richard.
But I knew that for someone like David, every single word was full of holes.
Would a regular old colleague really make a just-retired boss get so worked up when she was on her deathbed?
Would a regular old colleague really make him leave his wife and bow, begging me to help look after her?
David listened quietly, his face giving nothing away.
He knew me too well.
He knew that, as his mother, I was never the kind to meddle in other people's business.
And I was definitely not some saint who'd go out of my way to be magnanimous or forgiving to strangers.
He stayed silent for so long that Richard's forehead was slick with cold sweat.
Then, he finally spoke, his gaze sharp as a knife, cutting straight through Richard. "A colleague? Dad, I don't remember anyone named Linda working at your office."
Richard stiffened.
I couldn't help but let out a cold laugh inside.
My son didn't disappoint me.
He didn't need me to say a word. He was already investigating on his own.
Richard's voice was hoarse and awkward. "She's from another department. You don't know her."
"Is that so?" David pulled out his phone and tapped on a photo.
The photo showed Linda's personal info.
He said, "Linda, fifty-eight years old. She left Burwadon Textile Factory twenty-five years ago and hasn't held a real job since."
David's voice was cold and sharp, echoing through the empty hallway. "Dad, since when did you work at Burwadon Textile Factory?"
Richard's face went completely pale.
It was like he'd been exposed in front of his son, all his lies and shame laid out for David to see.
Shame, anger, fear, and all those emotions tangled together on his wrinkled face, making him look more twisted.
Just then, the door to the emergency room swung open.
A doctor walked out, looking exhausted. "Who's the patient's family?"
Richard jumped up as if he'd found a lifeline. "I am. Doctor, how is she?"
The doctor shook his head and took off his mask. "We managed to save her life. But whether she wakes up or not, that's up to her own fate now.
"Even if she does wake up, chances are she'll be in a vegetative state."
Those words were like nails, sealing Richard's fate.
He was doomed.
For the rest of his life, he'd be shackled to this living corpse.
All his pension, all his time, and all his energy would be drained by this endless black hole.
As for me? I'd be standing safely on the shore, watching Richard flail and drown in his own mess, taking my sweet time enjoying every bit of his pathetic struggle.
Richard staggered backward, his eyes hollow and utterly hopeless.
David didn't spare a glance for the doctor or the door that swung shut again.
His gaze never left Richard, fixed on him like a predator.
His voice was colder than hospital disinfectant. "Dad, I'm done asking who she is. I have one question for you. Are you the reason she's sick?"