Chapter 7
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After that, I spoke little.
My days were spent sketching or staring out the window.
The final ten days were simply a countdown.
I had no attachment to anything.
Bastian Hanson dropped everything to stay at the hospital, taking me for countless tests. Blood draws, medication, needles piercing my arms–I didn’t make a sound.
The endless silence unnerved him even more.
Passing Quilla Lewis’s room, my father’s expression was complex.
He demanded, “What are you doing? Do you need this many tests for a cold? Are you putting on a show to get sympathy?”
I didn’t explain.
My complexion was worsening; I was gaunt, and my gaze never met his.
His anger flared.“You’ve always been different from your sister–calculating, malicious. This only makes us dislike you more. Just leave and disappear!”
He shoved me hard.
My frail body stumbled, and the reports scattered.
He was startled.
“What are you doing? I just gave you a light push. Are you trying to get sympathy from your own father?”
Ignoring the pain, I gathered the papers.
They were my medical reports.
He picked one up.“Why did you get an echocardiogram?”
He reached for another.
Quilla Lewis’s voice came from behind.“Dad.”
She approached in her wheelchair, her face pale.“Dad, don’t be angry with Sister. She just wants you to care about her a little more.
You’ve been with me for so long; it’s normal for her to be jealous. Go be with her. I’m fine.”
She clutched her chest, gasping for air.
My father immediately dropped the reports.
“Silly girl, you’re like this, and your sister, instead of helping, is pretending to be sick for attention!
Why are you defending her?
If it weren’t for her, you wouldn’t have this condition from birth!”
Fatherly love, filial piety–a beautiful picture.
My heart was numb.
Bastian
Hanson emerged
from the
examination
room,
his face changing dramatically.
He quickly picked up the reports and pulled me back to the ward.
He threw me onto the bed.
The reports landed on top of me.
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His voice was heavy. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”
My face was pale.
My side ached from the impact against the bed.
I couldn’t speak.
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He continued, “You deliberately dropped the reports in front of Quilla so she’d see them, feel guilty, and refuse the surgery. Bella Lewis, you’re so vicious!”
His words hit like a hammer.
Clutching my side, I smiled bitterly.
“If you say so.”
My words meant nothing.
When it came to Quilla Lewis, he lost all reason.
My family, my lover, even my son, believed only Quilla Lewis.
My explanations were futile.
Returning to the bed silently, I asked, “Is there anything else?”
He paused, his gaze falling on the sketchbook on the nightstand–the one Lily had ruined.
“Lily has one wish before the surgery: to appear at the fashion show as a designer. You’re participating next year. Give your spot to Quilla.”
