Chapter 87
Chapter 87
Simon pressed his thin lips together. He'd been so busy dealing with all the scheming and politics at the company that he didn't even know Daisy had gotten sick.
He was such a failure as a father! The car screeched to a halt at the emergency entrance of City General Hospital. Simon jumped out and practically ran into the inpatient building.
Following the room number the nanny had given him, he found the single pediatric ward.
Standing at the door, he was about to push it open when his movement suddenly froze.
Through the glass window in the door, he saw a scene.
Under the soft bedside lamp, Daisy's small body lay in the hospital bed, an IV drip in her hand, her little face flushed red with fever.
Her eyes were closed, seemingly asleep, but her brow was still slightly furrowed, looking utterly pitiful.
And sitting by the bed, carefully using a cotton swab dipped in water to moisten Daisy's chapped lips, was Teresa.
She had obviously rushed over too, still wearing the work jacket from earlier in the day, her hair somewhat messy, her face showing undeniable exhaustion and worry.
But her movements were incredibly gentle, her eyes full of pure maternal love and heartache.
This scene hit Simon's heart like something had slammed into it hard, leaving it unbearably sour.
That spot beside the bed should have been his, as the father, but it was empty.
He pressed his lips together slightly, his eyes full of self-reproach. He was about to walk around to the door to go in, but in the next second, his steps completely froze.
Someone beat him to it, gently pushing open the hospital room door.
Simon stared intently at the person walking in.
Michael walked in carrying an insulated food container and a cute cartoon stuffed toy.
He had clearly just rushed over from outside too, bringing with him the coolness of the night wind.
"Teresa, I brought you some oatmeal porridge. Eat it while it's hot. I also brought a little toy for Daisy to cheer her up when she wakes up."
Michael's voice was kept very low, with his usual gentleness.
Teresa looked up at Michael.
In that moment, the tense worry and exhaustion on her face seemed to ease slightly because of his arrival.
She gave him an extremely faint smile, filled with gratitude and reliance. Though it vanished in an instant, it clearly fell into Simon's eyes outside the door.
"Thank you for making the trip so late."
Teresa spoke softly, taking the insulated container as she did.
"No need to be so formal with me."
Michael naturally placed the toy beside Daisy's pillow, then checked the IV bag.
"What did the doctor say?"
"It's viral, came on strong, but after medication the high fever is slowly coming down. It's just that Daisy's suffering..."
Teresa's voice caught slightly.
"Don't worry too much. She'll get better. You need to take care of yourself too, don't wear yourself out."
Michael comforted her in a low voice, even naturally raising his hand as if to pat her shoulder, but his hand paused mid-air, then pulled back. His gaze just rested gently on her.
Outside the door, Simon watched the scene inside the hospital room—harmonious like a family, yet filled with intimate care.
His gaze shifted to Teresa's expression as she smiled at Michael, that genuine smile he hadn't seen in so long. He felt all the blood in his body rush to his head, then freeze in an instant.
His hands hanging at his sides unconsciously clenched into fists. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath.
The one standing there tenderly caring for Daisy should have been him!
The one rushing over late at night with oatmeal porridge and toys should have been him too.
But now, he could only stand outside the door like a despicable voyeur, watching another man take his place, giving his wife and daughter warmth and care.
And he didn't even have the courage to push open the door and go in at this moment.
What right did he have to go in, and in what capacity?
As a failed father and husband who didn't even know his daughter was sick, who could only hide outside the door when he finally came?
At this thought, Simon suddenly stepped back.
The dim corridor light fell on him, stretching his shadow long and lonely.
The faint sounds from inside the room—Michael's lowered voice comforting and Teresa's tired responses—made his heart ache dully.
After who knows how long, the hospital room door moved softly.
Only then did Simon snap back to attention, suddenly looking up.
It was Michael coming out.
He gently closed the door behind him, his face still showing lingering gentleness, but his eyes were clear.
Seeing Simon standing by the window, he was obviously startled for a moment, then his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
A flash of complex emotions crossed his eyes—wariness and disgust, and even a trace of faint pity.
The two men silently faced each other in the dim corridor.
Finally, Michael said nothing, just gave Simon a barely perceptible nod as a greeting.
Then he turned and walked toward the elevator.
His steps were steady, his back straight, like a composed victor leaving his territory.
And Simon remained standing in place, watching Michael disappear at the end of the corridor, then turned back to look through the glass window into the hospital room.
A few days after the second presentation meeting for the Horizon Group project, undercurrents stirred in Meadowbrook City's business circles.
The Smith Group, top floor.
Simon sat behind his large desk, proposal documents that had been revised countless times spread before him.
The cigarette between his fingers had burned halfway down, ash falling onto the expensive solid wood desk surface without him noticing.
Sunlight streamed through the panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows, outlining his angular profile somewhat hazily, but the lingering gloom and coldness in his eyes were clearly visible.
His assistant pushed the door open, holding a just-received investigation report, his expression grave.
"Mr. Smith, we've found it. Part of the core technology patents in the Watson Group's proposal do belong to a small research institute in Sylvanor, and the authorization chain seems somewhat unclear."
"Our people heard that the institute previously had an authorization dispute with another company in Astoria. Although they settled, we might be able to work with this to make the Horizon Group side suspicious."
He placed the documents in front of Simon.
Simon looked up, glanced at the documents, a trace of complexity flashing in his eyes.
Using patent disputes—this common but somewhat underhanded business tactic to attack competitors—was something he normally wouldn't stoop to.
"Is the information reliable?" His voice was hoarse.
"We're quite confident. Even if we can't prove it definitively, bringing it up during the final presentation would be enough to disrupt their momentum and make the review panel concerned."
The assistant thought for a moment before answering cautiously.
Simon fell silent, his fingertips tapping lightly on the desk.
With the growing opposition within the company, he couldn't afford to lose this project.
This wasn't just business competition—it concerned his dignity and the Smith Group's future strategic positioning.
"Keep digging. Make sure to get more concrete evidence or leads. Also,"
He paused, as if suddenly remembering something, his eyes darkening.
"Anna, has there been any movement on her end lately?"