Liam’s POV: The Pain That Never Ends
“No! Doctor, what is going on with her?” I shouted, trying to push past them.
The doctors were blocking the doorway, their hands firm on my shoulders as they tried to push me back. But I wasn’t going to move. I couldn’t.
“Doctor, please tell me what’s going on! Let me see her!” My voice cracked, desperation clawing at my chest.
“Sir, please step outside,” one of the nurses said, her voice gentle but firm.
“I’m not leaving!” I screamed, my throat burning.
But then, before I could fight back, they succeeded. They pushed me out, and the door slammed shut in my face.
I banged my fists against the door. “Open the door! Open the damn door!” My hands were shaking, my whole body trembling. “Tell me what the hell is wrong with my mother!”
I pressed my face against the small glass window, my breath fogging up the surface. And then—I saw it.
I saw them cover her body with a white sheet.
“No,” I whispered, my voice barely coming out. “No… no… no.”
A doctor checked his wristwatch, then spoke the words that shattered my entire world.
“Time of death—5:42 p.m.”
I staggered backward, my legs giving out beneath me. My knees hit the cold hospital floor with a dull thud, but I didn’t feel the pain.
I couldn’t feel anything.
A hot stream of tears poured down my face, blurring my vision. My body shook violently as sobs tore through my chest.
She was gone.
My mother was gone.
Just then, I heard hurried footsteps. Someone was coming closer.
“Liam?” My father’s voice. Rough, deep, emotionless.
I lifted my head, my eyes red and burning. I clenched my fists so hard that my nails dug into my palms.
“What’s going on?” my father asked, his tone cold. “Why are you on the floor like that?”
I let out a bitter laugh, but it sounded more like a broken sob. “I should be asking you that,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Then, slowly, I pushed myself up to my feet, my hands trembling.
My father stared at me, his face unreadable.
“You were married to my mom,” I continued, my voice shaking with rage. “You treated her like trash. You never, not once, showed her love. Not even when she was sick.” I took a step closer, my hands curling into fists. “Instead, you hit her. Over and over again. You hit a sick woman, Dad.”
His expression didn’t change.
I scoffed. “I think you should be happy now. Isn’t this what you wanted?” My voice cracked with pain. “She’s dead now. You don’t have to deal with her anymore.” I pointed towards the room. “Go ahead! Look at her body! Look at what you did!”
My father remained silent, his face like stone.
I let out a choked breath, my shoulders trembling. “She’s gone, Dad,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “She’s really gone.”
A sharp pain spread through my chest, like my heart was being ripped apart piece by piece. I wiped my face roughly, but the tears wouldn’t stop.
Then, my father finally stepped forward. He walked past me and looked through the small window on the door. He stared at my mother’s lifeless body.
I held my breath, waiting—waiting for something, anything.
Some kind of reaction.
Some sign that he felt something.
But there was nothing.
No grief. No sadness. No guilt.
Nothing.
I felt something snap inside me.
“You don’t even care, do you?” I whispered, my hands shaking with fury.
He turned to me, his face blank. “There’s no point in being sad. She was weak.”
My heart stopped.
“What?” I breathed, my voice barely audible.
“She was weak,” my father repeated, his voice cold. “Your mother was an annoying woman. She deserved to be hit.”
I saw red.
Without thinking, my fist flew forward.
I punched him. Hard.
His head snapped to the side, and for a second, he looked surprised. But then, he smirked.
“Liam,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “This isn’t what we should be talking about right now.”
My breathing was heavy, my chest rising and falling rapidly. “You’re a monster,” I spat.
He ignored me. “Your mom is dead. It’s a painful thing, but there’s something more important right now.”
I frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He pulled something out of his coat pocket and held it out.
A plane ticket.
“You’re leaving tonight,” he said simply.
I froze. “What?”
“I’ve booked your flight,” he continued. “You’re going abroad. You leave in two hours.”
I blinked, my mind struggling to process his words.
“You’re sending me away?” My voice rose in disbelief. “Mom just died, and you’re sending me away?”
“It’s for the best.” His tone was final, like the decision had already been made.
I took a shaky step backward, shaking my head. “No. No way.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my skin. “I’m not going anywhere,” I said, my voice low and dangerous. “I’m staying.”
He smirked. “We’ll see about that.”
And before I could react, two men in black suits appeared behind him.
My stomach dropped.
Who were they?
Why were they here?
I took a step back, my heart pounding. “What the hell is this?”
My father sighed. “You’re not thinking straight, Liam. These men will make sure you get on that plane.”
I felt my blood turn ice-cold.
I looked at the two men. They were tall, muscular, their expressions blank.
Bodyguards.
Hired men.
I turned back to my father, my hands trembling with rage. “You’re forcing me?”
He didn’t answer.
I gritted my teeth, my jaw tightening. “You’re really doing this?”
Still, no answer.
I let out a bitter laugh. “You really are a monster.”
Then, I felt a hand grip my arm.
I tensed.
The bodyguards.
I yanked my arm away, glaring at them. “Don’t touch me,” I growled.
But they didn’t listen.
One of them grabbed me again, this time harder.
I struggled, thrashing against them. “Let me go!” I shouted.
But they were too strong.
They started dragging me away.
“No! Dad! You can’t do this!” I screamed. “I’m not leaving! Let me go!”
My father just stood there, watching.
Emotionless.
Heartless.
I kicked, punched, fought against the grip of the bodyguards, but it was useless.
They were taking me.
I was being forced out.
Away from my mother.
Away from everything.
And there was nothing I could do to stop it.