Chapter 38 The Only Way to Honor Him
The guards stationed outside had been withdrawn. Rufus must have decided that Cecilia could no longer get far, not in her current state.
With the hallways clear, she moved unhindered through the hospital, her footsteps echoing faintly, until she reached the ward where Patrick had been staying.
She pushed the door open, expecting to see him lying in bed. Instead, a young nurse was stripping the sheets, folding them with clinical precision.
Patrick was nowhere in sight. The monitors that had tracked his heartbeat and breathing were dark, cables coiled neatly.
For a moment, Cecilia's mind went utterly blank.
"Hello… I'm looking for the elderly gentleman who was here," she asked, her voice trembling.
A cold dread had already begun to coil in her chest, but it was still only a shadow, not yet solid enough to drive her to act. She needed to know—clearly, definitively—where Patrick was.
The young nurse pressed her lips together, her eyes softening with something that looked like pity.
"Are you a relative?" she asked carefully.
Cecilia nodded, her gaze fixed on the nurse's face, clinging to the hope that the answer might still be benign.
The nurse's expression shifted, a flicker of regret. "You came too late."
Following the nurse's directions, Cecilia found herself walking down a colder, quieter corridor, one that led to the hospital morgue.
Patrick's body lay alone in a small room, covered from head to toe with a white sheet. The contours of his face were hidden, reduced to a pale outline beneath the fabric.
It was only one step to cross the threshold, but Cecilia hesitated. As long as she didn't lift that sheet, part of her could pretend—pretend that he was still here, that he was still breathing, that he might open his eyes if she spoke his name.
But denial could only hold for so long. Drawing in a deep breath, she stepped forward and pushed the door open.
She stopped beside the bed, her hand hovering before she finally let it rest on the fabric. Her fingers trembled as she pulled the sheet back.
The face beneath was both achingly familiar and unbearably strange. The sight shattered her.
"Grandpa!" she cried, the word breaking on a sob.
Tears surged, spilling hot and fast down her cheeks. Patrick's expression was peaceful, as if asleep—but his chest no longer rose and fell, and his skin had taken on the cold, waxen pallor of death.
Cecilia clasped his hand, the chill biting into her palms. She tried to will warmth into him, as if sheer determination could coax life back into his veins. It was useless.
She couldn't understand. His condition had been stable. The last time she'd seen him, he had been fine—or as fine as one could be in recovery.
He was so close to leaving for the kind of treatment abroad that could change his life forever. She had even left money for him, enough to ensure a dignified life for the rest of his days. She had thought that even if she died before him, she would have nothing to worry about.
And yet… in only a few days, everything had changed.
The man who used to smile and ruffle her hair was gone. He would never wake again.
Since Patrick's injury and coma, she had clung to one hope—that he would open his eyes and call her name again. Now that hope had dissolved into nothing.
She sank to the floor, folding herself over her knees, her forehead pressed into the crook of her arm, and sobbed.
Once, she would never have dared to stay alone in a morgue for so long. But now, the person lying here was the one she had loved most in the world. Fear had no place here—only grief, heavy and endless.
She didn't hear the footsteps behind her. She didn't notice the presence until a voice cut through the air.
"How pitiful… to be deceived so completely by someone you trust. Cecilia, you still don't know the cause of your grandfather's death, do you?"
Blair's voice came from behind, laced with mock sympathy.
She had learned from one of the orderlies that Cecilia had left the ward for the ICU, and had guessed she would end up here. Seizing the moment while Rufus was absent, Blair had come.
God only knew how much satisfaction she felt, seeing Cecilia cry with such raw pain. But for Blair, this was only the beginning.
"Get out!" Cecilia snapped.
She knew Blair's intentions were never good. Even if she burned to know the truth, she wasn't foolish enough to take it from Blair's lips.
Blair didn't flinch at the insult. Who would take offense at someone who had just lost her closest family?
She smiled faintly, stepping closer, and patted Cecilia's shoulder. "Sometimes I almost feel sorry for you. You've kept your promises for so long, obeyed Rufus without question, even played errand girl for another woman because of him… and still, this is how you're treated."
Her voice softened into something almost conspiratorial. "You know, your grandfather didn't have to die."
The words struck like a blade, slicing through Cecilia's grief to spark something sharper—anger, disbelief. She glared at Blair, her voice low and vicious. "I told you to leave. Do you not understand plain speech?"
Blair arched a perfectly shaped brow. "I can't tell if you're truly naïve or just pretending. Do you want me gone because you despise me… or because you're afraid the truth will be too much to bear?"
She shook her head, feigning sorrow. "Cecilia, are you really willing to stay in the dark? Even if not for yourself—don't you owe it to your grandfather to know the truth?"
Blair was skilled at this—pressing on wounds until her target couldn't help but respond. Her words left Cecilia cornered.
Cecilia no longer pushed her away, though her eyes remained hard, fixed on Blair, waiting.
Blair knew she was halfway to her goal. She let her lips curve into a sly smile. "The truth is, your grandfather wouldn't have ended up like this if you hadn't been so disobedient lately. You made Rufus feel you were slipping beyond his control."
She tilted her head, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "Consider it a small lesson. I just didn't expect Rufus to be so ruthless with you. I thought there was at least some bond left between you… but I guess I was wrong."
Her delivery was theatrical, every sentence nudging toward the same conclusion—Rufus had killed Patrick, to teach Cecilia a lesson.
Honestly, Cecilia didn't believe it.
She didn't believe Rufus was the kind of man who would harm a helpless old man in a hospital bed. And she certainly didn't trust Blair's sudden benevolence.
Since when had Blair ever been so eager to tell her the truth?
"Blair, you haven't changed a bit," Cecilia said suddenly, catching Blair off guard.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're still the same—willing to do anything to get what you want, spinning lies whenever it suits you."
The words pulled her back to childhood memories. She remembered how Blair had acted in front of Brad—always clever, always performing. And Brad had eaten it up, convinced Blair was sharp, even seeing himself in her.
"I'll admit you're smart," Cecilia continued, her voice steadier now, "but that doesn't mean you can treat everyone else like fools."
Her grief was still there, but it had settled into something colder, more determined. She would find out the cause of Patrick's death—but not from Blair's poisoned words. She would stand up, investigate, and uncover the truth herself. It was the only way to honor him.