Chapter 4

Day three.

Dr. Smith, the attending physician, came back from vacation.

He entered the room, saw the empty bed and Linda's mother eating an apple in the next bed, and his expression changed.

He stormed into the director's office.

"Marcus, where's Aria?!"

Marcus was writing a report.

He didn't look up:

"She went home in a huff. What, do I need to go beg her to come back?"

Dr. Smith slammed the medical file on the desk.

"Went home? She's on day four post-op, her rejection markers are triple the safe level, she has coagulation dysfunction, she could have internal bleeding at any moment! In her condition, being away from monitoring equipment means death! And you let her go home?"

Marcus stopped writing and took off his glasses.

"Dr. Smith, are you helping her lie to me too?"

"When she left last night, she could run and jump, and she was talking back to me—her voice was louder than mine. What internal bleeding?"

"She just wants to stay in the hospital and take up public resources. I'm the director—I need to set an example. I can't let family members get special treatment."

Dr. Smith laughed bitterly.

"Marcus, in your obsession with avoiding impropriety, have you lost your mind? That's your own daughter! I'm calling the police right now."

Dr. Smith pulled out his phone.

Linda pushed open the door.

"Dr. Smith, don't call the police. Aria's fine."

She pulled out a phone and opened a video.

The background was heavy snow.

A figure stood up from the snow, took a few steps, and walked out of frame.

Though the face wasn't clear, the hospital gown was mine.

Linda said:

"I shot this last night on my way back to school. Aria fell down, but she got right back up and walked away. If something was really wrong, how could she walk?"

I knew that moment.

That was the surge before death.

I walked five steps, collapsed, and never got up again.

The video only showed those first five steps.

Marcus pointed at the screen and laughed coldly.

"See that? This is what you call 'about to die'?"

"To force me to give in, she's even learned to fake her death? What a disgrace to this family!"

Dr. Smith froze.

He looked at the video, then at Marcus, and put down his phone.

"Fine. Since she's okay, I'm staying out of it. Marcus, you'd better pray she really is okay."

Dr. Smith left.

Marcus posted the video in the hospital group chat.

Caption: "This is my 'good daughter,' conspiring with doctors to put on a show to fight for a bed. I, Marcus Bennett, will never tolerate this kind of abuse of privilege!"

The group flooded with approval.

"Dr. Bennett is so fair!"

"Support Dr. Bennett!"

At the same time, an anonymous post appeared on the hospital forum.

Title: "Director's Daughter Fights for Bed, Forces Poor Student to Kneel on New Year's Eve, Gets Thrown Out by Her Own Father!"

The post described how domineering I was, how pitiful Linda was, and how Marcus handled it.

Below it, thousands of comments—all cursing me.

"Why doesn't someone like this just die?"

"With a heart that vicious, she deserves to have her wound split open."

Marcus replied under the post with his real account:

"I failed to raise her properly. I apologize for the spectacle. I've frozen her card to make her reflect."

This reply pushed the post to the top of the local trending list.

I watched Marcus stare at the computer screen, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Outside the hospital flower bed.

When the janitor, Joe, was clearing snow, his shovel hit something hard.

He dug down and found a hand.

Joe fell backward in fright, about to call the police.

Linda happened to be walking by—she was picking up a food delivery at the back gate.

She immediately recognized the bracelet on that hand.

It was the bracelet Mom had woven for me.

Linda went pale.

She rushed over and pressed down on Joe's hand.

"Don't call the police!"

She pulled out a stack of cash from her bag.

"That's a discarded mannequin from the hospital. Sorry it scared you. Take this money and buy yourself a drink, but please don't tell anyone. If word gets out that the hospital's dumping medical waste, Mr. Bennett will get in trouble again."

Joe looked at the money, then at Linda.

"It's really a dummy?"

"It really is. I'll get someone to haul it away and dispose of it right now."

Joe took the money and left.

Linda stood by the snow pile.

She looked at the fingers sticking out from under the snow, bit her lip, and kicked more snow over them to cover them again.

"Aria, don't blame me."

"Mr. Bennett is about to be promoted to full director. Nothing can go wrong right now."

"Just think of it as helping us one more time."

I floated above her head, watching her tremble as she covered the snow.

Linda, you're finished.