Chapter 5

Willow carried a fruit basket, her face a perfect picture of concern and sympathy.

She walked in first, her voice gentle as if afraid to disturb the patient. "Oh, my goodness. How did this happen? Is she going to be alright?"

She placed the fruit basket on the nightstand, then looked at Dylan. "Dylan, don't worry too much. The doctor said it's just superficial. She'll be fine after a few days' observation."

I stared at them, especially Willow.

Concerned?

How could she possibly be genuinely concerned?

This was nothing but a show.

Dylan walked in silently and stood at the foot of the bed, looking at Grandma. After a long moment, he finally spoke, his tone flat. "What happened?"

A kind-hearted patient in the next bed sighed. "It's hard for the elderly living alone. I heard her place got broken into a few days ago. Must have given her a real scare. She wasn't paying attention crossing the street and took a fall..."

"Broken into?" Dylan's brow furrowed.

Willow immediately chimed in, her voice tinged with helpless regret. "It wasn't a break-in... It was Dylan... He was just here on official business, upset, looking for Stella to ask some questions. The commotion might have... startled her a bit."

As she spoke, she cast an apologetic glance at Grandma, as if filled with remorse.

I was shaking with fury.

That bitch.

She was casually downplaying Dylan's violent search as "a bit of commotion," all while implying it was my hiding that caused it.

Dylan pressed his lips into a thin line, saying nothing, but his gaze on Grandma grew heavier.

The voices seemed to rouse Grandma. Her eyes fluttered open.

At first, she looked confused. Then her vision cleared, settling on Dylan at the foot of the bed and Willow beside it. Immediately, fear and resistance flashed across her face, and she instinctively shrank back.

"You... you're back... what do you want now..."

Her voice was weak, trembling. "Stella's gone... she's really gone... Please... don't come looking for her anymore... and don't come looking for this old woman anymore either..."

Her plea stabbed into my heart like a needle.

Dylan's Adam's apple bobbed. He seemed to want to say something, but in the end, only a stiff sentence came out. "You should rest."

But Willow leaned over, picked up an orange, and began peeling it slowly. In that sickeningly sweet tone, she said, "Don't be afraid. We're not here to cause trouble. Dylan is just worried about you. Look, living alone is so unsafe. What if next time... Stella really is something, even if... even if she had her reasons, how could she just leave you all alone like this..."

She held out the peeled orange. Grandma turned her head away sharply, refusing to take it.

Willow's hand hung in the air. A flash of annoyance crossed her face, quickly replaced by a wounded look directed at Dylan. "Dylan, I was just trying to show I care..."

"Enough."

Dylan cut her off abruptly, his voice carrying a trace of weariness he couldn't quite hide. "Let her rest."

He gave Grandma one last, deep look. His eyes held a struggle, a flicker of doubt, but it was drowned out by the stubborn, persistent hatred that burned for me.

He turned to leave.

Willow had no choice but to put the orange down and follow.

But in that moment of turning, while Dylan's back was to the bed and Grandma's eyes were shut tight with fear, Willow aimed a low, vicious whisper in Grandma's direction.

"Old hag. Should have just died from the fall."

The words were like an ice spike dipped in poison, piercing straight through my soul.

I lunged at her, wanting to tear her apart.

But I just passed uselessly through her body.

"Willow, I'll kill you."

I roared a silent scream, hatred flooding every fiber of my being.

Dylan seemed to sense something. His steps hesitated. He glanced back.

Willow instantly smoothed her expression into one of gentle concern. "What is it, Dylan?"

Dylan's gaze swept over Grandma, trembling on the bed, then to Willow's innocent face. In the end, he said nothing and strode out of the room.

Willow followed close behind. Just before the door closed, she looked back toward the bed, a smirk full of malice and mockery twisting her lips.

The room fell silent again.

Grandma curled up on the bed, terrified, and began to sob quietly.

I stayed by her, watching her shoulders shake with fear and grief, watching the blood seeping through the bandage on her forehead. My soul felt like it was being deep-fried in oil, over and over.