Chapter 82: A Shift in the Weekend

Chapter 82: A Shift in the Weekend
Victor was in his room, folding and arranging some of his clothes into a small travel bag, when he heard a knock on the door. Before he could respond, Melissa’s head poked into the room, eyes curious.

"You never change," Victor said, smiling as she stepped in casually and plopped herself down on his desk chair, spinning it once before settling.

"Why are you packing your clothes?" she asked, glancing at the half-full bag on his bed. It was a quiet Saturday morning, and he hadn't mentioned any travel plans. The sight of the open suitcase sparked mild concern.

Victor reached for his phone and handed it to her. On the screen was a message from his office group chat. The boss had suddenly organised a one-week workshop for all staff, and they were to leave the next morning.

"Why is it so impromptu?" Melissa asked, raising her eyebrows. Her voice held that usual sceptical edge she used whenever adults did anything that seemed rash or unexplained.

Victor shrugged. "They actually mentioned it briefly before, but nobody took it seriously. It just sounded like talk. There wasn’t any preparation, so we all assumed it was a bluff—until this message came in. I was downstairs with Mummy when I saw it."

"So Mummy is already aware?" she asked, returning the phone.

Victor nodded. "Yeah, she was right there with me."

Melissa leaned back in the chair and let out a small sigh. "So now it’ll just be me and Mummy at home."

It used to be a normal thing for her—back when Victor was still living on his own and their father would travel often for work. She had gotten used to long weekends where only she and her mother filled the silence of the house. But things had changed. Since Victor had moved back in and their dad had been around more consistently, she'd grown accustomed to the subtle sounds of others: the occasional footsteps in the hallway, the smell of Dad’s cologne after a trip, Victor’s teasing remarks during breakfast.

Now, the thought of it just being her and Mum again felt... thinner.

"Take care of yourself for the week, okay?" she said, looking at him carefully. Her voice carried a weight it didn’t often hold.

"I will," Victor said. He paused, then added, "Have you heard from the detective? Hasn’t he rescheduled the identification of possible suspects?"

Melissa shook her head. "Detective Philip hasn’t said anything since Dennis’s accident. I think it’s because Lydia has been all over the place, you know? Maybe after Dennis wakes up, we’ll continue from where we stopped."

Victor nodded thoughtfully. "Oh, that’s right. Lydia said he should be up within 18 to 20 hours."

"Yes," Melissa confirmed. "I’m just glad that it didn’t turn out like Brian’s."

Her voice shifted slightly, sadness creeping in at the mention of Brian. The pain from that chapter hadn’t completely healed. Sometimes it caught her off-guard—sudden memories, moments of guilt or confusion.

Victor noticed. He walked over to her and gently patted her back, his hand resting there a second longer than usual. "Let’s thank God for Dennis’s successful surgery and pray that Brian—and you—find peace."

Just then, Mrs. Wright, who had been standing just outside the door for a few seconds, entered the room holding some folded clothes.

"Exactly what Victor just said," she added warmly. "And let’s also hope we catch whoever did this and make them pay."

Victor looked mildly surprised. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not very long," she replied, walking in fully. "I came to hand over your underwear. I just washed them in case you want to pack them too. Then I happened to hear your conversation."

"Mum, that’s eavesdropping. It’s not nice," Melissa teased, laughing.

Her mother laughed too. "Well, I wasn’t hiding behind the door like a spy. I was just about to enter, honestly."

Victor joined in with a chuckle, easing the slightly heavy mood.

Just before she left the room, Mrs. Wright mentioned, "By the way, after the call with Lydia, your father and I found out that due to the storm, there won’t be any available flight back for the next three days."

"Really?" Melissa asked.

"Yes. All flights in that region have been grounded until further notice. So your father will have to remain there till at least mid-week."

Melissa didn’t say much in response, but she nodded. It was odd how quickly a home’s atmosphere could change depending on who was in it. The house really was going to feel quieter than usual.

Victor noticed the slight slump in her shoulders. “You’ll be fine, Mel,” he said. “You and Mum will have some bonding time. Maybe binge that old detective series you both love.”

She smiled faintly. “Yeah, maybe.”

—

Later that morning, Lydia arrived at the hospital around thirteen minutes past nine. She walked briskly through the corridor, clutching a small handbag and a water bottle. Her steps echoed lightly against the hospital tiles, her face composed but tired. She hadn’t slept well.

When she opened the door to Dennis’s room, she was met with a warm and cheerful greeting.

"Hello, Lydia!" Mr. and Mrs. James both said, almost in unison.

"Hi," Lydia replied, smiling softly, touched by their effort to greet her so warmly despite everything they’d been through.

They looked visibly brighter than the last time she had seen them—back when worry weighed down every expression and word. The shadows under their eyes had lightened slightly. Their posture seemed less tense. There was a cautious optimism in the air.

"You look so bright and beautiful today," Mrs. James said, admiring Lydia’s simple but elegant dress. "Come, come sit here," she added, patting the empty space on the couch beside her.

Lydia walked over and sat beside her. She hadn’t expected such warmth, and it soothed her nerves more than she thought it would. Mr. James opened the bag on the table and took out a food pack.

"You haven’t eaten yet, right?" he asked, handing it over to her.

"No, I haven’t," Lydia replied, bowing her head slightly as she accepted the pack. "Thank you, sir."

"No—we should be thanking you," Mr. James said firmly, his eyes earnest. "You’ve done more than we can put into words."

Lydia looked over at Dennis, still unconscious in his hospital bed. There was more colour in his cheeks than the last time she saw him. He looked peaceful.

"How was his night?" she asked.

"The nurse who kept checking his vitals said he’s doing great," Mrs. James responded.

Mr. James checked his wristwatch. It was twenty-five minutes past nine. "He should be up within the next five to seven hours," he said quietly.

The room held a certain calm, the kind that only shows up after days of panic have started to ease. There were no more beeping alarms or rushed whispers in corners. Just quiet hums, soft lights, and the low rhythm of the machines.

For the first time in two days, the three of them shared a proper meal together. There were fruits, a large pack of fried rice with chicken, and small meat pies. Lydia hadn’t realised how hungry she was until the first bite.

Every bite was accompanied by conversation, smiles, and occasional laughter. They talked about random things: a funny nurse on night duty, the memory of Dennis’s dramatic reaction to a childhood injection, and the last movie Lydia had watched on her phone in the waiting lounge.

Gratitude was heavy in the air—not just for Dennis’s stable condition, but for each small progress that hinted at things turning around.

Despite the quiet hum of machines and the hospital walls closing them in, they shared moments of lightness, of hope. They laughed over random things, commented on the flavour of the meat pie, and paused occasionally to glance at Dennis.

Even in silence, there was a connection—a unified feeling that things were shifting, slowly but surely. And though none of them said it out loud, they were all waiting—for movement, for a flicker of his eyes, for his voice.

The morning passed like that, gently.