Chapter 2

The strong smell of disinfectant forcefully filled my nostrils, accompanied by the monotonous "tick-tock" of the electrocardiogram monitor.

I struggled to open my eyes, and before my vision was fully focused, I heard whispers coming from behind the curtain.

“Irreversible total failure.” Dr. Anderson’s voice was low, but it hit my eardrums like a heavy hammer. “At the current rate of deterioration, he has at most three months left.”

Dead silence.

Outside the curtain, I didn't hear the expected breakdown or questioning from my father. There was only a very deep sigh, as if some burden had been lifted.

Three months. I only have ninety days left to live.

The sound of rapid high heels suddenly echoed in the corridor, like a sharp alarm, precisely striking my nerves.

"Whoosh—"

The curtain in front of the hospital bed was suddenly pulled open.

My mother, wearing that white coat that symbolized "the benevolence of a doctor," stood looking down at me.

Liam, like a frightened rabbit, clutched the hem of his clothes tightly with both hands, hiding behind the door frame, not even daring to enter the ward.

I looked at my mother, and even though I was lying in the ICU, my face ashen, there was still no concern in her eyes, only overflowing irritability and blame.

"When are you going to stop making a scene?" the mother demanded sharply, her brows furrowed into a tight knot.

She slammed a document onto the foot of the bed: "Just because you talked nonsense in front of the reporters yesterday, Liam completely broke down and developed a high fever overnight! Now even the approval for the new drug's market launch may be delayed. Are you satisfied?"

The throbbing pain in my internal organs made me gasp. I looked at the woman who had given me life and felt utterly absurd.

I'm dying, but all she cares about is her medicine and someone else's son.

At that moment, Liam, standing outside the door, reddened his eyes, his voice trembling, with a pitiful sob in it: "Aunt Evelyn, please don't scold Brother Ethan... It's all my fault. Please don't do any more experiments for me."

This sentence is like a magic switch.

My mother, who was glaring at me angrily just a second ago, instantly put away all her sharpness.

She walked briskly to the door in her high heels, gently pulled Liam into her arms, and patted his back softly: "What nonsense are you talking about? Those experiments were all to save your life, they were absolutely necessary."

After comforting Liam, she turned her head again.

The moment she looked at me, the tenderness in her eyes vanished, replaced by a layer of frost.

"Look how sensible Liam is!" His mother pointed to the door, her tone icy and chilling. "He knew perfectly well that you participated in the experiment to save him, yet he never complained and was always grateful to you. And what about you?"

The air in the ward seemed to freeze.

"You caused a scene in public, smashed my trophy, and made us a laughingstock in the eyes of the media! Have you thought about how embarrassed Liam was in front of everyone?!"

“Yeah, Ethan.” My father emerged from the shadows, frowning and looking at me with disapproval. “You’re an adult now, how can you be so selfish? Can’t you be a little more considerate of your mother and Liam?”

Understanding. Again, understanding.

My chest heaved violently, anger mixed with excruciating physical pain, causing the electrocardiogram monitor to emit a sharp, piercing alarm.

"Beep—beep—beep—!"

"I'm selfish?" I stared at them intently, a bitter, cold laugh escaping my cracked lips.

I ripped open my hospital gown, revealing a shocking array of needle marks and dark, precipitated scars on my chest and arms.

"Eight years old! You forced me into a chair in the lab and drained half a tube of my blood, just to do your so-called basic research!"

"Ten years old! You applied an untested ointment all over my back for an allergy test! I was rolling on the ground in pain, my back was covered in sores, and you were just recording the data and saying 'the data is very good'!"

With each word I spoke, a metallic taste of blood welled up in my throat, but I swallowed it and stared intently into my mother's eyes.

"At twelve! You made me inject myself with unknown drugs three times a week! At fourteen! You shoved toxic compounds directly into my mouth!"

My mother's eyes flickered, and she instinctively avoided my gaze.

“Every time I vomited blood, had a high fever, or was in so much pain that I couldn’t even scream, what did you say to me?” I gritted my teeth, each word dripping with blood, “You touched my head and said, ‘The data is good. For your brother’s sake, hang in there a little longer.’”

I turned to look at Liam, who was hiding by the door, and he was looking at me in terror.

"And what about him?" I pointed at Liam and roared, "Every time he had a check-up, you invited the most authoritative experts for consultation! He stayed in the most luxurious VIP ward! You stayed with him 24 hours a day, without leaving his side!"

"Enough!" The mother, stung by what she'd been told, shrieked like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

Liam suddenly collapsed to his knees, slid to his knees, covered his face, and wailed, "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry! Auntie, please don't hurt Ethan anymore, let me die!"

He used this tactic of retreating to advance from childhood, and it never failed him.

Sure enough, the mother was heartbroken and hugged Liam tightly.

When she looked up at me again, I could clearly see the emotions in her eyes.

That was hatred.

A mother's undisguised hatred for her own son.

“Ethan, how could you be so vicious?” the mother gritted her teeth, as if looking at an enemy. “If Liam’s illness isn’t treated, he’ll die soon! His life is hanging by a thread!”

She suddenly stood up, pointed her finger at my nose, and said, "And what about you? You have such a good constitution, and now you're just making a scene because you're experiencing some reversible side effects. Are you trying to drive your whole family to the brink of despair?!"

"side effect?"

I felt like I had heard the funniest joke in the world.

I struggled to sit up in bed, my body ravaged by the injury, and pulled the IV needle from the back of my hand. Blood gushed out instantly, dripping onto the pristine white sheets.

"Reversible?"

I gave a bitter laugh, my trembling finger pointing to Dr. Anderson, who hadn't gone far outside the door.

“You were right outside the door, didn’t you hear me? Dr. Anderson said my liver, kidneys, and heart are completely rotten! I have at most three months to live!”

I watched my mother's expression freeze instantly, and she spoke each word slowly and deliberately, as if it were a curse:

"Dr. Hart, you call death reversible?"