Chapter 189
Aria's POV
I raced to the elevator, punching the button repeatedly as if that would make it arrive faster. The ride felt endless, my heart hammering against my ribs as I watched the numbers slowly climb. When the doors finally opened, I spotted Sophia immediately, hunched in a plastic chair, her body visibly trembling.
She looked up as I approached, her face ashen, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. When she saw me, something crumbled in her expression. She stumbled forward, collapsing into my arms with such force I nearly lost my balance.
"My mom jumped from the roof," she sobbed against my shoulder. "She was doing better, Aria. The medication was working. I don't understand..."
I tightened my grip around her shaking body. "What happened?" The question felt inadequate, but I couldn't find better words.
"I don't know," Sophia pulled back slightly, her eyes unfocused. "She was stable for days. Then yesterday, she started getting agitated again. She kept saying she failed as a mother, that she couldn't believe she raised a daughter like me..." Her voice cracked. "By the time I got to the roof, she was already..."
A sob cut off her words. I guided her back to the chairs, keeping an arm around her shoulders.
The double doors to the surgical area swung open. A doctor emerged, his face grim beneath the harsh fluorescent lighting. My stomach dropped at his expression.
"Ms. Kim?" he asked, his voice professionally neutral.
Sophia nodded, her fingers digging painfully into my arm as she rose.
"I'm sorry," the doctor said, removing his surgical mask. "We did everything we could, but your mother's injuries were too severe. She passed away a few minutes ago."
I felt Sophia sway beside me. Her face went blank, as if her mind couldn't process the words. Then her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed against me, suddenly limp and heavy.
"Sophia!" I caught her as best I could, struggling under her weight. "I need help here!"
The doctor rushed forward, and together we lowered her to the floor. My heart pounded with fresh fear as medical staff converged around us.
---
The steady beep of a heart monitor pulled me from my thoughts. I sat beside Sophia's hospital bed, watching her chest rise and fall. The doctor had said she'd fainted from shock and exhaustion—nothing physically wrong besides dehydration and stress.
Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. For a moment, she stared at the ceiling, confusion evident in her expression. Then memory returned, and pain flooded her features.
"Aria?" Her voice was small, childlike.
"I'm here." I leaned forward, taking her hand. It felt cold in mine.
Her eyes, dark and hollow, met mine. "My mom's not really dead, right? That was just a nightmare?"
I swallowed hard. "Sophia..." Words failed me.
Understanding dawned in her eyes, followed by a wave of grief so raw it was painful to witness. Then something in her expression shifted.
"I texted you," she said, her voice suddenly hard. "I texted you so many times last night. Why didn't you answer?"
The accusation caught me off guard. "I—I didn't see the messages until this morning. I'm so sorry."
"You always check your phone," she cut me off, pulling her hand from mine. "If you had answered, maybe we could have stopped her. Maybe we could have found her before she got to the roof."
Guilt twisted in my stomach. I had been with Devon, had deliberately ignored my phone. Could I have prevented this if I'd seen Sophia's messages?
"I'm sorry," I said again, feeling utterly inadequate.
Sophia stared at me, her breathing ragged. "Please go. I need to be alone right now."
"Sophia—"
"It's not your fault," she added quickly. "I'm just... I can't do this right now."
I stood reluctantly, backing toward the door. As I stepped into the hallway, I heard the first sob break free from behind the closed door, a painful reminder of my failure.
---
Three hours later, I returned with Sophia's favorite foods and a change of clothes. She sat by the window, staring out at the cityscape, her profile etched with grief.
"I brought food," I said gently. "You need to eat something."
Sophia didn't look at the bag. "I'm not hungry."
I set it on the bedside table and approached carefully. "Even just a few bites. Please?"
"What's the point?" she asked, her voice hollow. "Eating won't bring her back."
The bleak despair in her voice alarmed me. I knelt beside her chair. "Sophia, I know it feels impossible right now, but you will get through this. And I'll be with you every step—"
"Will I get through it?" she interrupted, turning to look at me. "Like Chloe wants me to 'get through it'? Move on and pretend nothing happened?"
The mention of Chloe caught me off guard. "What does Chloe have to do with this?"
Something flashed in Sophia's eyes—a fierce, burning anger that transformed her grief-stricken face. "She went to see my mother last week. After she pushed me at the engagement party and hurt my arm—remember? When I was just helping Owen to his car because he was too drunk to drive?"
I nodded slowly, recalling the incident. "I remember."
"She told my mother I was having an affair with Owen." Sophia's voice shook with rage. "She called me a home-wrecker, a 'little mistress' stealing her fiancé. She showed my mother pictures of me helping Owen that night, twisted everything to make it look like we were sneaking around."
"My mother was already fragile," Sophia whispered, tears streaming down her face. "The medication helped, but... she was always so concerned about our family's reputation. Chloe's lies pushed her over the edge. She kept saying I'd dishonored the family, that she'd failed as a mother." Her fists clenched at her sides. "I'm going to make Chloe pay for what she did."
Alarm bells rang in my head. Sophia's grief was twisting into something dangerous. "Whatever Chloe did, confronting her now won't help anything."
"You don't understand," she snapped, her eyes wild. "My mother was getting better. She was stable. Then Chloe visits with her poison, and suddenly my mother can't even look at me..." Her voice broke.
I approached her cautiously. "Sophia, please sit down. We can talk about this—"
"I don't want to talk!" she cried, grabbing something from the bedside table—a small paring knife that had come with the fruit plate.
"I need to find Chloe," she said, her voice suddenly eerily calm. "I need to make her understand what she's done."
"Sophia, no." I reached for her arm. "Give me the knife. You're not thinking clearly."
"Let go of me!" She tried to pull away, the knife held awkwardly between us.
"I can't let you do this," I insisted, tightening my grip on her wrist. "You'll ruin your life."
We struggled briefly, my hand around her wrist, trying to force her to drop the knife. In the confusion of movement, I felt a sharp, stinging pain across my forearm. We both froze, staring down as blood welled from a slash across my skin.
"Oh God," Sophia breathed, the knife falling from her suddenly limp fingers. It clattered to the floor between us, the blade smeared with my blood. "Aria... I didn't mean to..."
The cut wasn't deep, but blood flowed freely, dripping onto the white hospital floor. For a long moment, we both stared at it in shock, the red droplets a stark contrast against the sterile tile.