Chapter 3

The red light of the emergency room stayed on for forty-seven minutes.

When Mom finally rushed in, her hair was disheveled. She was still clutching a leftover cake box from their celebration dinner.

The sweet, sickening smell of whipped cream wafted from the box, making my stomach churn.

"Where is your father?"

"In surgery."

The moment the words left my mouth, a sharp slap stung my face.

Everyone in the hallway turned to look.

Mom’s palm was red. Her eyes were bloodshot.

"Chloe, how could you be so heartless?"

My ears rang. I had to lean against the wall to keep from falling.

Brandon rushed forward and grabbed my collar, shaking me.

"You were standing right at the door and did nothing? You just watched him die?!"

Marcus quickly stepped in to pull him off me.

"Brandon, stop blaming her! Chloe called 911, and she called the locksmith. She literally couldn't get in because she didn't have access!"

"Then why didn't she break the door?"

"We did! We broke it, and the fire department had to help!"

Mom glared at Marcus. "This is family business. Keep out of it!"

Ashley stood behind Brandon, her eyes perfectly red with tears.

"Chloe, I know you’ve always felt like your parents favored Brandon, but your dad was innocent. How could you take it out on him?"

Her words were like a bucket of filthy water poured over my head.

I stared at her.

"You hung up on me."

She bit her lip.

"I thought you were throwing another tantrum. How was I supposed to know it was real?"

"I sent you a text saying Dad was having an attack."

"The restaurant was too loud. I didn't see it."

Brandon sneered. "You always do this. Whenever something goes wrong, you blame everyone else."

The nurse pushed the double doors open.

"We need a family member to sign the critical condition notice."

Mom’s knees buckled. Brandon and Ashley immediately caught her.

Nobody looked at me.

The nurse asked, "Who is the immediate next of kin?"

"I am his wife."

Mom snatched the pen, her hand shaking violently.

As she was about to sign, she suddenly stopped. She turned her tear-stained face toward me.

"Chloe. Get on your knees."

The hallway fell dead silent.

"Kneel in front of the operating room. Beg God to let him live."

My chest felt suffocated.

Dad hadn't been the perfect father.

But he had carried me to the clinic when I was sick as a kid, and he had once secretly slipped a hundred dollars into my bag for college.

Before I could speak, Brandon’s heavy hand slammed down on my shoulder, forcing me down.

My knees hit the hard tile with a sickening crack. Tears of pain instantly welled in my eyes.

Mom buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

"Arthur, look at your precious daughter. She finally admits she was wrong."

Ashley knelt beside me, her voice sickeningly sweet.

"Chloe, just apologize. Don't make your mom suffer any more than she already is."

Apologize for what?

For not having a fingerprint?

For being locked out of my own home?

For the four of them celebrating while leaving Dad alone to die?

The doors swung open again.

The doctor stepped out, taking off his mask. His face was a mask of exhaustion.

"We did everything we could. I’m sorry."

Mom let out a piercing shriek and collapsed backward.

Brandon grabbed the doctor’s coat.

"How? Is it because she called too late? If he had gotten his medication earlier, would he have made it?"

The doctor was silent for a moment.

"It was a severe attack. But yes, with asthma, every second counts. The sooner the intervention, the higher the survival rate."

Brandon whipped around to look at me.

His eyes looked like he had finally found his murderer.

"Chloe."

Mom pushed herself up against the wall, walking toward me step by step.

Her voice was like gravel.

"You killed your father."

Inside the room, the white sheet was pulled over Dad's face.