Chapter 3 - The Ghost from Seven Years AgoThe hospital waiting room was dim, lit only by the amber glow of a vending machine and the pale city lights filtering through rain-streaked windows.
Sitting alone on a cracked vinyl chair in the corner was Monica.
She wore a faded canvas jacket, her brown hair pulled back in a messy clip, her face pale and streaked with fresh tears. Her hands trembled as she clutched a phone that had gone dead minutes ago.
Douglas stopped at the entrance of the waiting room.
He wanted to speak, but his throat had completely closed up. Seven years ago, when their father died and left massive gambling debts behind, Douglas had chosen survival through corporate ambition. He had offered Monica money to walk away, telling her that her bleeding-heart ideals would drag them both into ruin.
Monica had refused the money, thrown his check in his face, and told him she never wanted to see his cold, unfeeling face again.
And now, here he was.
“Monica,” Douglas said softly.
The sound of his voice cut through the quiet room like a razor blade.
Monica froze. Slowly, she lifted her head. Her red, swollen eyes locked onto her older brother. For three agonizing seconds, neither of them moved.
Then, Monica stood up.
She didn't run. She didn't scream. But the fury and devastation burning in her eyes was more terrifying than any weapon.
“You,” Monica whispered, her voice shaking violently. “What are you doing here, Douglas? Did your corporate board meeting get canceled, or did you just happen to drive by our misery?”
“Monica, listen to me—” Douglas started, taking a step forward with his hand outstretched.
“Stay back!” Monica shouted, the tears finally breaking over her lashes as she crossed the room and shoved her fist against his chest. “Don't you dare touch me! Where were you when we needed rent money? Where were you when Nina was born with a weak heart? You didn't care about us for seven years! Why are you here now?!”
“Because I pulled her out of the wreckage,” Douglas answered, his voice cracking with raw emotion.
Monica stopped dead. Her hands fell away from his chest. She stared at him, her breath catching in her throat.
“What... what did you say?” she whispered.
May you like
Douglas reached into his coat pocket and slowly pulled out the damp, blood-streaked photograph, holding it out to her.
“I was the one who pulled Nina out of the overturned car, Mon,” Douglas said, tears finally spilling over his own eyes. “I saved her. And I didn't even know she was my blood.”
