Chapter 9
"Sophia, you've really gone above and beyond. You bring soup to my mother-in-law every single day—honestly, you put me, her daughter-in-law, to shame," I said.
"Don't say that, Lina," Sophia replied, lifting her glass.
We tapped our glasses together.
She took a sip, but I just held mine.
I couldn't help but notice the lipstick mark on her glass, and compared it to the stains that sometimes showed up on Ethan's water cup in the hospital.
The color matched perfectly.
That did it—the last piece finally fell into place.
I sat down, pulled out my phone, and pretended to reply to a message. But really, I opened a folder and checked what was inside.
Three videos.
The first clip showed security footage from the lobby of The Royal Crest Hotel. Ethan and Sophia walked in together and headed for the front desk. The timestamp read 4:00 PM, eleven days earlier. His arm was wrapped around her waist the entire time.
The second video was from the hotel restaurant during dinner. Ethan sat across from Sophia, peeling shrimp for her one by one and placing them on her plate. Sophia smiled, picked one up with her fork, and ate it. The timestamp was 8:11 PM that same night.
At that point, there were still three hours and forty-nine minutes before Mom was rushed to the ER.
The third video was the shortest—only a few seconds. It showed the hotel hallway a little after one in the morning. Ethan was standing there in his pajamas, his phone screen glowing. He glanced at the caller ID and pressed the side button.
The screen went dark.
He turned, pushed open the door, and walked inside.
It was one in the morning. The ER was calling him for the third time. It was also my forty-sixth call to him.
He saw it. He didn't miss it.
He saw the call, sent it to voicemail, and walked into Sophia's room.
While his mom was lying on the operating table, waiting for his signature, he sent the call to voicemail.
Who gave me those three videos? Right now, that didn't matter at all.
The important thing was, they were sitting on my phone—and my phone was only three steps away from the cast button on the big TV.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket.
Dinner was well underway. Uncle Edward's face was red from the drinks, and Ethan, who'd had a few himself, was noticeably more talkative than usual.
Aunt Clara nudged Ethan lightly. "Ethan, just look at how wonderful Sophia is. You two have known each other forever—you really understand each other. And you know what Lina is always so distant. Just think about it."
Ethan cleared his throat. "Aunt Clara, let's just eat. We can talk about this later."
Aunt Clara slammed her hand on the table. "Later? Why wait? Everyone’s here tonight—let’s just put it all on the table." Her eyes locked on Ethan. "If you want to divorce Lina, no one in this family is going to stop you. Your mom losing her leg… that’s all the proof you need. She’s not cut out to be your wife."
The air in the private room grew tense.
Uncle Edward frowned. Emily lowered her head and picked at her food. Chloe shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
Sophia looked just the right amount of flustered. "Clara, you've had a bit too much to drink. Shouldn't this be something they talk about between themselves?"
"Aren't you a little too eager?"
That wasn't me. Chloe was the one who spoke up.
Everyone turned to look at her.
Chloe picked up a slice of roast duck, layered it with scallions and sauce, rolled it up, and popped it into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully, savoring every bite.
"Aunt Clara, you're always trying to push Ethan and Sophia together. Don't you think you're rushing things? Lina's still sitting right here," Chloe said.
Aunt Clara paused, a little thrown off. "What do you mean? I'm just stating the facts."
"How about you get your facts straight first," Chloe said, ripping off another slice of duck and popping it in her mouth. "Does anyone really know what Ethan was up to those three days? I checked—there wasn't any state-level medical symposium."
The private room went dead silent.
Ethan set down his glass and turned to Chloe.
"Chloe, what are you getting at?"
"Nothing, really. I'm just curious," Chloe said, finishing her duck roll, wiping her hands, and leaning back in her chair. "Ethan, you're not hiding something from us, are you?"
"When have I ever lied to you?" Ethan shot back.
"Chloe leaned back, tapping her fingers on the table. "I don't know… but Lina called you eighty-nine times, and not one got through. Sounds like more than just coincidence. Did you block her number or something?" Chloe asked.
Ethan's face darkened. It wasn't that he went pale—he just got that heavy, serious look he only ever had when someone screwed up in the operating room.
"Who told you that?" Ethan asked.
"Nobody told me. I just figured it out myself," Chloe shrugged. "No symposium, couldn't reach you, and eighty-nine calls—all of them couldn't get through. Ethan, I might not be as smart as you, but I'm not stupid."
"That's enough," Ethan said, slapping his hand on the table, making his glass shake. "Tonight's about thanking everyone for helping with Mom, not grilling me. If you can't eat, just go home."