Before Clay had even started at the hospital, when the pressure of studying was crushing him, my mom hadn't hesitated. She'd handed over every penny of her life savings so he could focus on preparing for his exams without worry.
She knew his stomach was weak, knew how grueling the hours were. No matter how busy she got, she always found time to prepare meals that were gentle on his digestion, hoping to ease even a fraction of his burden.
And this was the woman Clay called a shameless parasite who deserved to be punished. A woman who had treated him like her own son.
Something inside me went quiet. When I spoke again, my voice had lost its urgency, settling into something flat and distant.
"Clay, your mother's condition is critical. I'm telling you to get to that operating room and save her. She raised you single-handedly. The least you can do is show up."
Clay exploded.
"What is wrong with you, Dorothy? When did your mother ever raise me? No wonder Evangeline couldn't help herself. With a daughter like you, your mother had it coming!"
"You think this little stunt requires my attention? Evangeline graduated top of her class. She knows what she's doing. It's a minor procedure. Don't think you can use your connection to me to hog medical resources."
"My mother's birthday gala is in three days. I still have a surprise and a party to plan for her. I don't have time for your nonsense."
The line went dead.
I was about to redial when a notification popped up on my screen. Clay had just posted on social media.
I tapped it open. Three minutes ago. A beautifully designed birthday gala invitation, accompanied by a caption dripping with filial devotion: "Three days from now, I'm hosting a birthday celebration for the mother I love and admire most. Wishing her health and happiness for every year to come, and sweetness for the rest of her days."
I hit the like button.
The fury from being humiliated moments ago dissolved, replaced by something quieter. Curiosity.
When he found out that his mother was the one on Evangeline Fox's operating table—that his beloved mother was the one being carved open like a lab specimen—what kind of reaction would this devoted son have?
I reached the hospital just as the first gray light of dawn crept across the sky. The operating room lights had long since gone dark.