Chapter 9
The machine monitoring Jack’s condition suddenly erupted with blaring alarms, the shrill sound almost deafening. Before the nurses could rush in to check on him, his eyes fluttered shut, and he lost consciousness.
A crowd of relatives immediately gathered at the door, blocking the way, their angry voices rising in unison.
“Vicious woman! What did you do to Jack?”
“He was still conscious a minute ago, but the moment you stepped in, he’s in critical condition. How can you be so poisonous?”
“If Jack dies today, it’s your fault! You’re the one who murdered him! The Thompson family will make sure you go to jail for this, life for life!”
The shouting and chaos echoed down the hallway, a constant barrage of accusations. The medical staff pushed their way through the crowd, rushing Jack into the emergency room.
I had planned to leave immediately, but the Thompson family wasn’t going to let me off that easy. Dozens of them stood in my way, forming a human wall, blocking any escape.
Finally, Mrs. Thompson emerged from the room next door, looking lost and disoriented. She was an instant target for everyone’s attention.
I seized the opportunity and slipped out of the hospital.
But as soon as I reached the ground floor, I was surrounded by a group of reporters who had caught wind of the drama. Cameras flashed as microphones with logos from every media outlet were shoved into my face.
A barrage of questions hit me like a wall.
“Are you Mrs. Wilson? What’s your response to the rumors online about abandoning your husband’s treatment? Why did you give up on him?”
“Is it true that you transferred all your family’s savings to your relatives?”
“What’s your husband’s condition? Did you come here today to kick him while he’s down, or are you here to say goodbye?”
I found myself cornered at the entrance, the reporters pressing in, and not a single person in the crowd standing up for me. I couldn’t answer their questions, and the more I avoided eye contact, the more guilty I appeared.
The video footage was posted online almost immediately, and it didn’t take long for the internet to erupt with outrage.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, the nurse who had been watching Jack earlier appeared. She stepped in between me and the reporters, blocking their path and giving me a chance to slip away.
I managed to escape the hospital, but as soon as I reached the street, I saw a group of reporters waiting near my building. I hesitated, and then I saw it, my apartment windows had been splashed with red paint.
Just as I stood frozen, my mom sent me a message:
“Go, hurry and leave! Don’t come back! Our relatives heard the rumors and now they’re all here asking to borrow money from you!”
I closed my phone, red-eyed, and headed straight to a hotel instead. Afraid of being tracked down by netizens, I opted for the smallest, most hidden inn in a quiet alley. I used the excuse of forgetting my ID, and they didn’t bother registering me.
Sitting on the couch in the room, I finally let out a long, shaky breath of relief. But underneath that sense of escape, my heart was heavy with resentment.
