Chapter 4

Cordelia turned to see the family housekeeper, Cleo, wearing an apron and holding a trash bag.

When Cleo saw who it was, her eyes instantly welled up with tears.

"Ms. Sinclair! It really is you!"

Cordelia's throat tightened. "Cleo..."

Cleo had worked for the Sinclair family for years and loved Cordelia like her own daughter.

"Mr. Sinclair and Mrs. Sinclair have missed you so much." Cleo wiped her tears. "Mrs. Sinclair fell down the stairs a few days ago and fractured her leg. She's been in the hospital asking for you..."

Cordelia's face went deathly pale. "Fractured her leg? How is she now?"

Something this serious had happened, and she—the daughter—had known nothing about it!

"The hospital said it was a hairline fracture..." Cleo caught herself. "Don't panic—Mrs. Sinclair is stable now—"

But Cordelia couldn't stay calm.

She never imagined reuniting with her family under these circumstances. What if something worse had happened? What if she'd never seen her mother again?

"Which hospital?" Cordelia grabbed Cleo's arm, her voice shaking.

"Silverline Hospital. Orthopedics ward."

Cordelia turned and ran.

She couldn't hear anything else. Only one thought consumed her mind: get to the hospital. She had to see her mother immediately.

She ran so frantically her heels skidded on the stone path, nearly sending her sprawling.

When she reached the street corner, it was empty.

Ellington's car was gone.

The late-night street stretched out barren before her—not a single taxi in sight.

Cordelia stood on the curb, fumbling for her phone with trembling fingers, barely able to hit the right buttons. Tears rolled down her face, blurring the screen.

Suddenly, blinding headlights cut through the darkness. Ellington's car slowly pulled up in front of her. The window rolled down, revealing his slightly annoyed face. "Why aren't you going inside?"

He'd been about to leave when he caught a glimpse of her in the rearview mirror—running out like a madwoman, standing on the street, shaking.

She looked pathetic.

Cordelia just stared at him, her lips trembling, unable to speak.

Ellington frowned, got out of the car, and walked over to her. "What happened?"

Her voice broke. "I... I need to get to the hospital. My mom's there, but I can't..."

"Get in." His tone was impatient, but he pulled open the passenger door.

Cordelia hesitated for only a second before scrambling inside.

Silence filled the car.

Cordelia stared out the window. Neon lights streaked past in the darkness as her tears kept falling.

She remembered the day she left home three years ago. Her mother had stood at the door, eyes red, asking, "Cordelia, are you sure about this? You're giving up your family for a man who doesn't love you?"

She'd said she was sure.

And then she hadn't looked back for three years.

Through the rearview mirror, Ellington saw her shaking. His throat tightened. He wanted to say something but looked away instead.

The car quickly stopped at the hospital entrance.

Cordelia shoved the door open and ran inside. She followed the room numbers down the hall until she finally spotted the half-open door at the end.

Through the gap, she saw her mother, Xanthe Garcia, propped up in bed with her left leg in a cast, talking to the patient in the next bed.

The woman asked, "Where's your daughter? I haven't seen her visit once since you were admitted."

Xanthe paused, then smiled. "My daughter's busy with her career. I don't want to be a burden."

Cordelia froze in place.

Busy.

What had she been busy with these three years?

Busy tending to another man's every need. Busy staying up all night by his bedside.

And her own mother had fractured her leg, and she'd been the last to know.

"You're too easy on her. If my daughter didn't visit me for three days, I'd call and give her hell," the woman laughed.

Xanthe waved it off. "Kids have their own lives. The best thing we can do as parents is not be a burden."

Cordelia bit her lip hard, tears streaming down her face.

She couldn't hold back anymore. She pushed the door open and walked in.

Xanthe instinctively looked up. The moment their eyes met, she froze.

Her smile stuck on her lips. Her eyes filled with tears.

"...Cordelia?" Xanthe's voice trembled, as if afraid she was seeing things.

Cordelia rushed to the bedside, dropped to her knees, and threw her arms around her mother.

"Mom..." The moment the word left her lips, three years of longing crashed over her. She sobbed, unable to speak.

Xanthe's trembling hand stroked her back, soft and gentle, the way she used to soothe her to sleep as a child.

"Why are you crying? It's good that you're home." Xanthe murmured through her own tears, which fell onto Cordelia's hair.

The other patient tactfully looked away, giving them their moment.

Cordelia cried for a long time before finally lifting her head, her eyes red and swollen as she looked at Xanthe's leg.

"Mom, how's your leg? What did the doctor say?" Her voice still shook with tears. She touched the cast gently, afraid to press too hard.

Xanthe wiped her eyes and smiled. "It's nothing. Just a little tumble. The bone cracked a bit, but it'll heal. Don't worry."

"I'm getting older now. My legs aren't what they used to be. I missed a step on the stairs. Old bones don't handle falls well." Xanthe brushed it off lightly, then took Cordelia's hand and studied her closely. "But look at you—you're skin and bones! Haven't you been eating properly?"

Cordelia's nose stung. She lowered her head.

She didn't know how to answer.

Should she say that for three years at the Carnegie house, she'd always served Ellington first and eaten whatever was left over?

That she'd stayed up until dawn caring for that man, only to wake up early and make breakfast again?

That she'd thought her devotion would earn her a little love, only to be thrown out like trash the moment his first love returned?

She couldn't say any of it.

"I've been fine," she finally managed.

Xanthe looked at her with such heartbreak in her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something when the door suddenly swung open.

Cordelia looked up and met her father, Jasper Sinclair's, shocked gaze.

His shock lasted only a second before transforming into deep, simmering rage.

"What are you doing here?" Jasper's voice was low but cut like a dull blade.

Cordelia stood up, her lips trembling. "Dad..."

"Don't call me that." Jasper slammed the thermos he was carrying onto the table, his chest heaving. "Didn't you walk out with that man three years ago and never look back? What are you doing here now? Putting on a show for someone?"

"It's not like that..." Cordelia tried to explain.

"Shut up!" Jasper cut her off, his eyes boring into her. "Do you have any idea how badly your mother's hurt? She's been hospitalized for three days and you haven't called once! When the neighbors ask me where my daughter is, what am I supposed to say? I tell them my daughter's busy taking care of her paralyzed husband!"

Cordelia's face went ashen.

She opened her mouth, wanting to explain that she'd spent every day by that hospital bed for three years. That she'd never forgotten this family.

But the words stuck in her throat. She couldn't get a single one out.

Jasper pointed at the door, his finger shaking.

"Get out. You ungrateful daughter—get out of here right now!"