“Loren! Get away from there!” Arthur shouted. His expression twisted in panic as he lunged forward, shielding Loren with his entire body.
“Don’t move,” he said hoarsely, clutching her close. “Be careful!”
Loren trembled, eyes wide. She turned and, in her panic, slammed the emergency safety door shut—locking me inside.
I froze.
The searing liquid splashed onto my back, and agony tore through me like wildfire. The burning sensation stole the air from my lungs, and the chemical fumes curled into my nose and throat like invisible claws.
I bit down hard on my lip, trying to stay conscious. But my legs buckled. My vision blurred.
The last thing I saw was Arthur holding Loren in his arms—like she was the most fragile, precious thing in the world.
And me?
Left behind.
---
The pain pulled me back to consciousness like a hook in the chest. Every breath was laced with fire.
I turned my head with effort—and froze.
Loren was curled on the bedside, sobbing into Arthur’s chest.
“You’re my sister’s husband... you treat me so well... I-I shouldn't have...”
Her voice cracked.
“I didn’t mean to close the door. I was scared... I didn’t know what to do…”
Her trembling hands clutched at his sleeves like lifelines.
Arthur brushed her tears away gently, his touch feather-light. “It’s not your fault,” he whispered. “The equipment’s old. Accidents happen.”
“She’ll be okay, right?” Loren’s voice was barely audible.
He stroked her cheek tenderly. “Even if I had to choose again a hundred times… I’d still protect you first.”
“Why?” Loren lifted her tear-streaked face.
Arthur gazed at her, his voice low and fervent. “Because I like—”
The ward door burst open.
Startled, Loren sprang away from Arthur’s arms like a frightened rabbit.
Abraham stepped in cautiously, his small face flushed as he cradled a lunch box with both hands.
“Abraham, did you bring this for Mommy?” I asked softly, warmth blooming in my chest despite the pain. I knew he couldn’t cook, but seeing him here, so concerned, still touched me.
To my surprise, Abraham’s expression twisted into a frown.
“It’s not for you,” he muttered. “I bought it for Aunt Loren with my own pocket money.”
My breath caught.
“What did you just say?” My voice trembled—not from weakness, but from anger.
Abraham looked away, face full of irritation—so much like his father’s.