Chapter 49
Rachel had anticipated Charles's anger, but not its intensity.
The murderous glint in his eyes sent a chill through her. Yet that momentary fear quickly transformed into hatred for Willow.
It was all that bitch Willow's fault! Before she appeared, Charlie had been so good to her. He would never have threatened to kill her otherwise!
If only Willow weren't around...
Though hatred seethed beneath the surface, Rachel's expression remained composed as she reassured him. "Don't worry, I won't say anything. After all, the donor heart was used for my mother."
When Charles had sufficiently calmed, they proceeded to Samara's room.
She lay in bed looking perfectly unharmed—confirming Charles's suspicions and threatening to reignite his barely contained anger.
"Charles, you're here!" Samara greeted him with a warm smile. "Did we frighten you? I only had a small fall. Rachie was so worried and she told me you were at the hospital, so I asked her to find you."
She adopted an apologetic expression. "I hope Rach didn't disturb you?"
Given her friendly demeanor and status as an elder, Charles could hardly express his frustration. "Not at all. I'm glad you're alright."
Though he longed to return to Maria's room, Samara kept him engaged in conversation, leaving him little choice but to stay.
Meanwhile, in Maria's room.
As Charles's absence stretched on, everyone tactfully avoided mentioning it.
After lunch, Willow excused herself to Maria. She had planned to spend the entire day with her grandmother, but after what had happened, she feared Maria might notice something was wrong if she stayed too long.
Leaving the room, she encountered the head nurse and suddenly felt compelled to know what Charles was doing.
She asked for Samara's room number, explaining she needed to find Charles.
The head nurse, who had previously cared for Maria and knew of Willow's relationship with Charles, readily provided the information.
---
Minutes later, Willow stood outside Samara's room. The door was slightly ajar, allowing laughter and conversation to filter through.
Samara reclined in bed, her complexion rosy and vibrant—showing no signs of having fallen. Charles sat beside her, attentively peeling fruit. Across from him, Rachel smiled shyly.
The scene radiated domestic harmony—they looked like a perfectly happy family.
A flash of bitter irony crossed Willow's eyes as she turned to leave, but Rachel happened to glance up and spot her.
"Willow?" Rachel called out.
Instantly, the other two turned toward the doorway.
"Willow? Why are you here?" Charles's hand tightened around the fruit knife. The blade slipped, cutting his flesh.
Blood welled from the wound, but he seemed not to notice, his attention fixed entirely on Willow.
From her bed, Samara glanced between them. "Is this Ms. Spencer? Please come in and have a seat."
Willow composed herself and offered a polite greeting. "Mrs. Smith."
Her gaze swept briefly over Charles. "I just came to tell Charles I'm leaving, and he needn't return to my grandmother's room later."
"Did Rach disturb you?" Samara looked apologetic. "I'm so sorry. I'm perfectly fine—Rachie was overreacting. And Charles, well, he's been attached to me since childhood, treats me like his own aunt. He was especially concerned."
Willow understood the implication but remained neutral. "You watched Charles grow up. It's natural he's closer to you."
As Samara began to respond, Willow cut her off. "I should have joined Charles in visiting you, but I have matters to attend to today. I'll come see you another time."
Without giving them a chance to reply, she turned and left. If Samara wanted to boast about Charles's closeness with her and Rachel, Willow saw no reason to stay and endure it.
"Willow!" Charles rose to follow her.
Rachel, however, noticed his injury. "Charlie, you've hurt your hand. Let me bandage it for you!"
In the hallway, Willow paused briefly upon hearing this.
Charles looked after her hopefully.
But in the next moment, he watched as Willow walked away without looking back.
Rachel approached with iodine, taking his hand. Charles frowned but didn't refuse her help.
Willow left the hospital alone—Charles never followed.
The day was still young, but she didn't want to be alone with her thoughts.
She boarded a random bus and wandered the city for hours, returning to her neighborhood only on the last bus of the night.
Most residents in the complex were elderly and had already retired for the evening, leaving the surroundings eerily quiet.
As she approached her building, Willow thought she heard crying. Though not superstitious, the sound in the silent darkness made her skin crawl.
Steeling herself, she walked forward until she spotted a small figure huddled by a flowerbed, partially hidden in tree shadows.
The voice sounded familiar.
She turned on her phone's flashlight for a better look.
"Willow..." A little girl raised her head, her face wet with tears and mucus, her eyes red and swollen.
Willow recognized her as the little girl from next door and felt a wave of relief.
"Gianna, it's so late. Why aren't you home? Did you argue with your grandmother?" She approached with concern, gently patting the child's head.
Gianna's lip trembled as she choked out, "I-I want... candy."
Willow couldn't help but smile. "Doesn't your grandmother buy you plenty?"
The neighbor doted on her only granddaughter, treating her like a precious jewel.
Gianna shook her head pitifully. "Not those."
Assuming she'd quarreled with her grandmother, Willow offered, "What kind do you want? I'll buy it for you, and then we'll go home, okay?"
"I want the kind Jeff gives me," Gianna replied in a sweet childlike voice.
Jeff was another resident's grandson and the neighborhood children's "leader."
Willow was about to ask what candy Jeff gave her so she could buy some, when Gianna continued, her voice dripping with hurt.
"Jeff gives me candy every day, but today he gave it to Eva instead. I didn't get any..." Her lower lip quivered dramatically. "Jeff doesn't like me anymore..."
Willow understood—Gianna, young as she was, was experiencing her first heartache.
She crouched beside her. "So do you want Jeff's candy, or do you want Jeff's attention?"
This question was clearly too complex for Gianna's young mind. She fell silent, her lip still quivering.
Willow rummaged through her bag and found a chocolate Molly had given her yesterday.
"I have candy too," she said, offering the beautifully wrapped chocolate. "Even better than Jeff's."
The little girl blinked, tears still flowing—but now accompanied by a telltale trickle of drool.