Chapter 4

Day Three.

The soundproofing in the preoperative room was very good, but it still couldn't block the "warmth" spilling over from the adjacent room.

That was Liam's room.

I heard my mother, Margaret's, heartbroken voice: "Oh, my sweet boy. Why must God make you suffer like this? Mommy wishes she could take the pain for you."

My father Richard's voice followed closely, carrying comforting and hearty promises: "Liam, listen, as long as this surgery goes well, I'll transfer the deed to the villa in Surrey to your name. You are the great hero of this family, you must get well."

Then came Elena's voice: "I've already approved the proposal for the party. It’ll be next week. We’ll hire the best band in London to celebrate your rebirth."

By contrast, the room I was in was so quiet it felt like a corner forgotten by the world.

No flowers, no promises, not even a single person coming to check on the man who was about to have his bone marrow extracted.

I leaned against the headboard, phone in hand, playing a matching game I downloaded out of boredom.

Colored candies burst under my fingertips, making cheerful sound effects—the only noise in this room.

The door was gently pushed open, and a middle-aged cleaner in a blue uniform walked in.

"Excuse me, Mr. Ward, I’m here to collect the trash." The woman swiftly replaced the garbage bag, her eyes accidentally sweeping over the nightstand.

Next to a stack of lifeless medical bills sat an exquisite black velvet box.

It was the one the "Wish Shop" gave me, containing the transparent antidote.

The "regret pill" that could supposedly bring back all my painful memories.

The cleaner paused, rag in hand, and asked hesitantly, "Is this yours? It looks quite valuable."

My fingers kept swiping on the screen. I didn't even lift my head.

"It's trash," I said indifferently. "Throw it away."

The cleaner seemed to pity the item, but she followed the words of her client.

Clatter.

The metal box fell into the bottom of the giant black garbage bag on her cart, making a muffled thud.

"I wish you a smooth surgery," the cleaner said as she wheeled her cart away.

I looked at the "Level Up" on my screen, feeling only a vast, serene emptiness in my heart.

Meanwhile, out in the hallway.

Elena had just finished comforting Liam and was walking toward my room.

Lily was tugging at her sleeve, holding a freshly peeled orange—one she had peeled for Liam.

"Mommy, don't go see that bad man," Lily said, her mouth full of orange slices, her words mumbled yet self-righteous. "He's an adult anyway. Getting a little bone marrow taken out won't kill him. I still need to read a story to Uncle Liam."

Elena's footsteps abruptly stopped.

She looked at her daughter. That pure malice and apathy acted like a mirror, suddenly reflecting something she found too blinding to look at.

She used to think this was Lily being straightforward or acting in Liam's best interest. But today, those words sounded exceptionally grating.

"Lily," Elena's voice dropped, carrying a stern edge. "That is your father. To save your uncle, he is about to undergo surgery. You should treat him better, or at least show him some basic respect."

Lily clearly hadn't expected her mother to change her tune so suddenly. She froze, then shouted indignantly, "You’re the one who said that! You said Daddy was too emotional and not as sensible as Uncle Liam! I’m just telling the truth, what right do you have to yell at me? If you force me to be nice to him, I'll stop talking to you!"

With that, the child forcefully threw off her mother's hand and angrily ran back into Liam's room.

Elena stood in the empty hallway, looking at that closed door. Suddenly, it felt as if an invisible hand was squeezing her heart fiercely.

It was an unprecedented panic.

It felt as though something incredibly important was irreversibly slipping away.

"Mrs. Ward?" A nurse poked her head out of my room. "Mr. Ward is ready. We are taking him to the operating room."

Elena jerked awake and rushed to the door.

The surgical gurney was rolling out.

She saw me lying on it, pale but calm, my eyes half-closed, not even giving her a passing glance.

"Aaron..." She instinctively reached out to grab my hand, but her fingertips only met icy coldness. "Don't be afraid. I'll wait for you outside. When you come out, I have something to tell you."

I gave no response.

The heavy doors of the operating room closed right in front of her. The red "In Surgery" light flicked on, like a bloodshot eye staring back at her coldly.

The next few hours felt like centuries to Elena.

Liam's surgery was incredibly successful. When the doctor came out to announce the good news, the whole family hugged and cried with joy.

But Elena couldn't smile. She stayed guarding my observation room, refusing to leave for even a second.

Guilt grew wildly in her heart like weeds.

She thought: When Aaron wakes up, I’ll end this damn cold war.

I’ll tear up that divorce agreement, buy all those flowers back, and discipline Lily properly.

I’ll take him on a vacation. To Iceland, where he has always wanted to go.

I will make it up to him, she repeated inwardly over and over, trying to suppress the emotion called panic.

Late at night, the anesthesia finally wore off.

Only a dim nightlight was on in the room. Elena, resting her head by the bed, felt a slight tremor from my fingertips.

She jerked her head up. Her eyes were bloodshot but full of hope.

"Aaron? You're awake?" She desperately gripped my hand, her voice hoarse but tender. "Thank God... does the incision hurt? I've been thinking all night... I was a jerk before. Let's start over, okay?"

I slowly opened my eyes.

My vision went from blurry to clear. Above me was an unfamiliar ceiling; the air smelled of disinfectant.

Finally, my gaze fell on the face of the woman before me.

She was very beautiful, with delicate features, wearing an exquisite tailored suit, but her face was full of exhaustion. Her eyes were written with complex emotions—guilt, deep affection, and a certain relieved expectation.

But I only felt bewildered.

I gently pulled my hand back. The touch of a stranger instinctively made me uncomfortable.

"Ma'am."

I frowned, looking at her with polite confusion, and asked the question that completely shattered all her hopes:

"Who are you?"