Chapter Ten

Chris walked down the hospital corridor, his hands buried in the pockets of his fitted black suit. His back was straight, his steps measured. The soles of his polished shoes struck the tiled floor, their sharp echoes filling the empty hallway. Overhead, fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow, making the tiny stones on his shoes shimmer. His pale face looked stiff and unreadable, but the dark circles under his eyes quietly showed how little he had slept and how much was on his mind.

His gaze remained fixed ahead, but as he neared a door just a few feet away, he halted. His brows furrowed briefly before he released a slow breath and approached it. His fingers curled around the knob, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned white. His muscles tensed, his jaw clenching.

Fifteen years.

His lips pressed into a thin line.

How does he look now? How am I supposed to face him? How will he feel when he sees me again?

A memory surfaced—his uncle’s vibrant blue eyes, the thick hair covering his arms, and the warmth of his smile.

“This is your home now,” his uncle had told him that day, ruffling his hair with a gentle chuckle. “Welcome home, Steven.”

Chris still remembered the grandeur of the house that had been his refuge for a short time. The vast sitting room, its high ceiling adorned with golden chandeliers that gleamed even without light. A black carpet, dark as midnight, stretched across the floor, leading to a regal purple chaise lounge. A sweeping staircase loomed in the background, where his uncle’s wife had stood that day, draped in a flowing white gown. Her sleek black hair flowed over one shoulder like a silk river, her eyes twinkling as she smiled down at him.

“Come, dear.” She had beckoned with an inviting smile. “Let me show you your room.”

Chris’s grip on the doorknob loosened, his feet instinctively retreating a step.

What am I doing?

He exhaled and placed his hand back on the knob. With a slow turn, he pushed the door open. His heart pounded against his ribs, his pulse drumming in his ears.

The sharp scent of antiseptic stung his nostrils the moment he stepped inside. His stomach twisted as if recalling the presence of death. The rhythmic beeping of machines filled the quiet room, drawing his attention to the IV lines snaking into his uncle’s arms and the oxygen tubes resting beneath his nose.

His uncle.

His once vibrant blue eyes, now dulled with fatigue, flickered toward Chris.

Chris’s hands clenched in his pockets, his brows knitting together.

His uncle had changed. The familiar face was still there, but illness had stripped him of everything else. His full head of hair was gone, his skin almost translucent, stretched over sharp cheekbones. He looked smaller somehow, as if the weight of his body had disappeared along with his strength.

A lump formed in Chris’s throat . His body burned, his breath turning hot.

Maybe it’s my fault. All of it…

Chris swallowed hard, unable to finish the thought.

“Steven…”

His uncle’s voice was faint, barely a whisper. Hearing that name again sent a sharp pang through Chris’s chest. He shut his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if trying to block the memories tied to it. His palms dampened, sweat gathering beneath his shirt. His hands trembled in his pockets, his entire body sticky with unease.

Not here.

Forcing his eyes open, Chris straightened his posture, his shoulders stiff. His feet dragged forward as if the weight of his past anchored him to the floor.

“S… Steven…”

Chris watched as his uncle struggled to sit up, shifting his frail body against the pillows.

Chris bit his inner lip, searching for words. A wall stood between them, built over years of silence and wounds left unhealed. Time slowed, each second stretching painfully.

Then his uncle smiled. Faint, weak, but genuine. Chris felt his muscles loosen, just slightly. But the warmth was fleeting, quickly replaced by a searing ache in his chest.

He wanted to feel it again—that warmth he had known as a boy. But it was lost now, a distant memory his body could no longer recognize. All that remained was the emptiness that had settled in its place for years.

“I thought you… wouldn’t come.” His uncle’s lips quivered as he spoke, his breath uneven.

“It’s been a long time,” Chris muttered, his eyes fixed on the ventilator. “I’m surprised you sent for me.”

A low chuckle escaped his uncle’s lips.

“You’re still my child, no matter what, Chris.” Felix sighed. “I’m sorry.” His gaze fell to his lap.

The silence between them was heavy, stretching for what felt like an eternity.

“I sent you away,” Felix murmured, shaking his head. “Back then…” His face crinkled with a forced smile. “None of it was your fault. But I never got the chance to tell you that.”

“You’re sick.”

Felix glanced at Chris, sighing at the obvious deflection. He nodded silently.

Chris finally met his uncle’s gaze, his expression unreadable.

“Is that why you sent for me?”

“Yes and no.” Felix coughed, his shoulders trembling. “I have no family left. I only have you now. And I wanted to see you… one last time before I die.”

Die?

Chris’s jaw clenched. His eyes darkened as they flickered over his uncle’s frail form. The word gnawed at him.

Am I going to end up like this someday?

His gaze shifted to the machines, the tangled wires, the sterile room. The scent of antiseptic grew sharper in his nose, the beeping of the machines like needles pricking at his eardrums. His stomach knotted, sweat dripping down his spine.

Will I have to die like this? And if I do, who will I call for?

Who will be the last person I want to see?

Felix’s eyes moved to Chris’s white-knuckled grip on the bed headboard. A grimace flickered across his face, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“You’re sick too,” Felix murmured. “Alex told me… you need personal assistance.”

Chris stiffened, his gaze shifting to the shelf beside the bed. He focused on the neatly arranged beverages as if examining them.

“I’m taking care of it.”

Felix nodded, sighing in relief. He rested his head against the pillow, his expression softening.

“Then let her stay,” he said. “Just for three months. Let her help you finish your dream project. Don’t overwork yourself… Save your strength for the exhibition.”

A pause.

“Do you know how proud your father would be if you made his dream come true?”

Silence.

“I’ll keep your words in mind.” Chris glanced at his wristwatch, his vision blurring, his skull tightening as if squeezed by an invisible force. His eyelids felt heavy.

“Is that a promise?”

His uncle’s voice was distant, barely reaching him.

Chris nodded, then bowed his head slightly. “I have to go.”

“Come see me again,” Felix pleaded, his gaze lingering on his hands.

“…Okay.” Chris turned and left the room, his pace quickening.

_____

Chris slid into his car and fumbled with his suitcase’s zipper, his fingers trembling as he retrieved his medication. He swallowed the pills with a gulp of bottled water, then exhaled sharply. Leaning back, he bumped his head against the headrest and squeezed his eyes shut. Deep lines furrowed his forehead, and his grip tightened around the bottle until the plastic crumpled beneath his fingers. He loosened his tie and let out a slow, shaky breath.

His uncle’s pale face, bald head, and dim, weary eyes replayed in his mind. A sharp ache pulsed through Chris’s chest.

“You’re still my child, no matter what, Chris,” his uncle’s voice echoed in his head. “I’m sorry.”

How could he still say that to me?

“Get out!” His uncle’s wife’s scream pierced through his thoughts. “You’re cursed! You’re cursed! Out of my house!”

She had shoved him, her hands rough against his chest, sending him tumbling down the grand staircase.

That day, he had turned to her, his eyes red with tears, his hands pressed together in desperation.

“I have nowhere to go! Please, Aunty!”

“Oh, really?” She had scoffed, planting her hands on her waist. Her disheveled hair framed her flushed, swollen face. Dark circles clung beneath her bloodshot eyes.

“You killed my daughter! You!” She slapped him, the sting searing through his cheek. “I should have never let you in.”

Then, she shoved him into the heavy rain and slammed the door in his face. Thunder cracked above him, the sound rattling his bones. Cold rain drenched his hair, seeped into his clothes, and weighed him down like chains. He had stood there, blinking against the downpour, staring at his uncle’s mansion one last time before walking away.

Months later, he had heard that his uncle had lost his wife too—grief had consumed her. He never went to check on him. When he heard the news, he had told himself he didn’t care.

Yet, when his uncle wrote to him about his illness, Chris found himself traveling a long distance to visit him at the hospital. He didn’t know why he had come, but the moment he stepped into the ward, the truth struck him—he still cared.

For years, he had blamed his uncle for not stopping his wife. But standing in that hospital room, looking into his uncle’s sunken eyes, he realized the man had never had a choice.

Chris let out a shaky breath and slumped forward, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. His arms folded over his head, stifling the quiet sob that escaped his lips.

Had I never entered their lives, would things have been different?

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