Missing Him So Much
In the ward:
Alison turned on the TV. As she flipped through the channels, however, she noticed that not a single one reported the shooting incident—as if that night had never happened.
Desperate to know the latest developments, she grew impatient.
"Someone!" she called out toward the door.
The door opened, and a man entered. "I'm the security guard assigned by Mr. Aidan to protect you. Is there anything you need, Ms. Fairchild?"
"I want to see the newspapers—all of them from the past two days," she ordered urgently.
"Certainly. Please wait a moment. I'll get them right away." The security guard politely exited the room.
After waiting a long time, she couldn't bear it anymore. Hopping on her uninjured foot, she hopped to the door and quietly opened it a small crack to peek outside.
Outside, a security guard was pacing back and forth in front of her door—clearly not the same guard who had gone to get the newspapers earlier.
"Help!" she suddenly whispered, then darted into the adjacent bathroom.
Hearing the noise, the guard pushed open the door and rushed into the room.
As the guard entered, she seized the moment and darted out through the bathroom glass door, then she sprinted toward the stairwell.
Footsteps echoed behind her. Alison instantly ducked into the stairwell and recklessly racing down the stairs.
The wound on her foot seemed to tear open, searing with pain.
After running down about two flights, faint footsteps echoed from the stairs above.
Her heart clenched, thinking those two guards must have split up to chase her.
Instead of continuing down, she dashed through the stairwell door to the elevator on the eighth floor.
She sprinted through the hallway, leaving trails of blood on the floor and drawing stares from everyone on that floor.
Spotting an elevator that was about to close and descend, she urgently called out, "Wait!"
A man peered out and pressed the open button for her.
"Thank you." Alison rushed in.
"You're welcome, miss. Your foot is bleeding,” he remarked.
"It's fine. I just want to breathe some fresh air outside. It's been a long time since I've been out," she said pitifully.
“Why don't you use a wheelchair?” the man asked.
"I..." She almost blurted out that she had snuck out.
“Why don't you use mine for now? I bought this for my father a few days ago, but he doesn't need it. I can push you downstairs.” He suggested.
Without hesitation, she nodded in agreement.
The elevator quickly descended to the first floor.
The man pushed her toward the lobby entrance.
Alison kept her head down, afraid to be exposed.
As the wheelchair rolled outside, she finally breathed in the fresh air.
"Where would you like to go, miss?" the man asked.
"Just over there, thank you." Alison pointed vaguely toward the lawn across the street where a newsstand stood.
"That way, right?"
"Yes, thank you so much."
Suddenly, the man pushing the wheelchair accelerated, jolting her and sending a wave of panic through her.
"Sir..." She gripped the handles, overcome by a sense of dread, feeling that something wrong would happen.
The wheelchair's wheels spun wildly, picking up speed alarmingly.
A car approached.
When she looked into the vehicle, she gasped in horror.
Matthew? Is he out of his mind?
No, I can't fall into his hands.
Her body lurched, and she rolled onto the grass in an instant.
"Help! Help!” she shouted, scrambling to her feet and running toward the crowd.