Chapter 4
Chloe stood quietly off to the side, glancing at me, then at Ethan.
"That's enough," Ethan finally spoke up.
I thought he was about to defend me.
"Lina, apologize to Aunt Clara. The truth is, Mom's accident happened while you were home," he said.
I looked up at him.
He looked at me with a blank face.
"Apologize," he repeated.
About twenty people had their eyes on me.
My throat felt tight. Three days of exhaustion, the frustration of eighty-nine missed calls, the loneliness of sitting outside the operating room all night—all of it was stuck right there, choking me.
"I'm sorry, Aunt Clara," I heard myself say. "I should've taken better care of Mom."
Aunt Clara just gave a dismissive snort and said nothing more.
Ethan turned away and went back to discussing prosthetics with Uncle Edward.
No one asked how I made it through those three days. No one wondered how long I sat alone outside the OR. No one questioned why eighty-nine calls never got through.
Or maybe they did ask—but Ethan had already given them the answer: medical symposium, phones locked away, couldn't be reached.
They bought it.
He was the Chief of orthopedics, the pride of the family, the golden boy everyone worshipped. Whatever he said, that was gospel.
I picked up the bowl of stew and walked out of the crowd.
At the corner of the hallway, I bumped into a nurse.
Her name was Peter Wilson, the ICU nurse on duty. She'd been taking care of Grace these past three days.
Peter saw me, her lips moved as if she wanted to say something.
"Lina," she whispered, slipping a note into my hand. "I'm not sure if I should tell you this."
I unfolded the note.
It read: [Three days ago, at 11 PM, the ER tried calling Dr. Hayes’s cell phone. His phone wasn't off, and it wasn't unanswered. The system showed 'call rejected.']
Call rejected. Not powered off. Not a bad signal.
Someone had deliberately declined the call.
I folded the note and slipped it into my pocket.
"Thank you, Peter," I said.
I carried the stew back to the room, my face expressionless.
The next day, Sophia Bennett arrived.
She was dressed in a cream-colored long dress, her hair neatly tucked behind her ears, carrying a large bag of imported fruit and an insulated lunchbox.
The relatives in the hallway froze for a second when they saw her, then couldn't take their eyes off her.
"Who is she? She's gorgeous," one of them whispered.
"I think she's one of Ethan's old classmates," another replied.
Chloe was there too. She glanced at Sophia and asked Ethan, "Hey, who's she?"
Ethan was in the middle of discussing the post-op plan with the attending physician. When he heard Chloe, he turned around.
His face shifted—panic flickered in his eyes for a moment before he quickly covered it up with a carefully composed calm.
"Sophia, what brings you here?" he said, walking over to her.
Sophia lowered her head, her lashes fluttering. "I heard something happened to your mom, and I was really worried. I made some Creamy Chicken Soup for her—to help her recover after the operation."
She didn't look at me even once. From the moment she stepped into the hallway to when she stopped at the hospital room door, she acted like I was invisible—just another piece of furniture in the room.
"And you are?" Uncle Edward asked.
"Nice to meet you, Edward. I'm Sophia Bennett, a college classmate of Ethan's," Sophia replied with a polite smile, then turned to Grace.
She walked over to the bed, gently took Grace's hand, and her eyes welled up with tears.
"Grace, you've suffered so much. I should've come earlier," Sophia said softly.
Grace, seeing Sophia's tears, ended up comforting her instead. "Such a thoughtful girl. Thank you for caring."
Sophia opened the thermos to reveal a warm, Creamy Chicken Soup that smelled irresistible. She picked up her own porcelain spoon, cooled it gently with a puff of air, and carefully fed a spoonful to Grace.
"Grace, I spent six hours simmering this, and I added dates and dried berries—those are super good for healing," Sophia said softly.
Grace took a sip, her eyes sparkled instantly. "This tastes way better than anything the hospital serves."
"Then I'll bring you some every day," Sophia said with a gentle smile, her voice as light as a whisper.
Aunt Clara leaned in, inhaling the aroma with obvious approval. "This smells incredible. Sophia, right? You're already putting our daughter-in-law to shame. Lina can't cook to save her life."
I was standing just a couple steps away.
I was still holding the Slow-Cooked Pork Stew I'd woken up at five in the morning to make.
"Aunt Clara, the soup I made this morning is on the cabinet," I said.