Chapter 6

At 10 AM the next morning, I stepped through the doors of downtown Central Hospital, my chest tight with an inexplicable anxiety.

Ever since the private investigator told me Freya had cancer, sleep had eluded me. Fragmented memories pierced my mind like needles—sometimes a blurred smile, sometimes a gentle voice, but every time I tried to grasp them, they vanished.

"I need to see Dr. Martinez," I said at the oncology reception desk.

The nurse looked up. "And you are?"

"Stanley Everest. I have some... personal matters to discuss."

Twenty minutes later, a middle-aged doctor with gold-rimmed glasses emerged from his office. Dr. Martinez's face showed a flash of confusion when he saw me.

"Mr. Everest? You finally came." He approached me, his voice carrying a note of relief. "I've been wondering when Freya's family would show up."

My heart rate spiked instantly. "Doctor, I'd like to know about my wife... ex-wife's condition."

Dr. Martinez's expression shifted to shock. "You really don't know your ex-wife has cancer? She's already in the terminal stage!"

The words hit me like lightning. I felt blood rushing to my head. "What... what do you mean?"

"Terminal lung cancer. It's already metastasized." Dr. Martinez shook his head in disbelief. "She's refused all aggressive treatment options. I thought it was due to financial constraints or... she said her family knew about her decision."

My legs went weak, and I leaned against the wall. "This can't be possible..."

"There's something else that concerns me deeply," Dr. Martinez lowered his voice. "She seems to have completely given up her will to live. This psychological state is often associated with long-term emotional suppression. Mr. Everest, as family, you really should spend more time with her."

I could barely stand. Something in my mind was violently colliding, trying to break through some kind of blockade. A blurred image flashed—a woman sitting in a hospital corridor, her pale face full of exhaustion, but she would force a smile when she saw me... When was this? Why would I have such a memory?

I hurried out of the hospital and sat in my car, trying to sort through my thoughts. Without realizing it, I had driven to a familiar place—the garage at the accident scene where Patty had lost her life.

I didn't know why I had to come here; I just felt compelled. Something deep in my mind was calling out.

"Stanley?" An elderly voice called out.

I turned to see neighbor Mrs. Henderson, a woman in her seventies, walking over with shopping bags.

"Mrs. Henderson." I nodded politely.

The old lady's eyes flashed with sympathy. "Child, you finally came to see this place. After that day, I kept thinking about what little Patty used to say."

"What did she say?" My voice trembled slightly.

"She always said 'I want to make the brightest light for daddy who's afraid of the dark.'" Mrs. Henderson sighed. "What a thoughtful child. She knew daddy worked hard and always wanted to surprise you to make you happy."

I felt something blocking my throat. Afraid of the dark? When had I ever said I was afraid of the dark? But these words sounded strangely familiar, as if they had really happened...

"She... she really said that?"

"Of course! She also said, 'Daddy always comes home late. If there's a night light, he won't get lost in the darkness.'" The old lady shook her head. "Poor child. The day of the accident, she was right here assembling a small night light..."

I rushed into the garage, frantically searching for something. In the corner, I found a small pink phone—Patty's phone. This phone... why did seeing it make my heart ache?

With trembling hands, I opened the recording, and a childish voice emerged:

"Daddy, I love you, even if you don't love me. I want to be the brightest light so you won't get lost coming home. Mommy says daddy works very hard, so I want to make the brightest little night light in the world for you. Daddy, I hope you can see my love for you..."

I collapsed to the ground. This voice... this sweet childish tone... Suddenly, broken images flashed through my mind like lightning: a little girl toddling toward me, her smile when she first called "daddy," the crooked family portrait she had drawn...

But why were these memories so blurred? Why would I think she was a stranger? Blondie had said she wasn't my child, but why did hearing her voice cause me such pain?

I drove back to the mansion with my mind full of questions, Patty's innocent voice and Mrs. Henderson's words echoing repeatedly in my head. I needed answers. I needed Blondie to give me an explanation.

At eight PM, I stormed into the mansion. Blondie was sitting elegantly on the sofa, painting her nails.

"Darling, you're back." She looked up with a smile. "Where did you go today?"

"Why didn't you tell me Freya was sick?" I glared at her.

Blondie's hand froze, and the nail polish brush dropped to the floor. "What? Is she really sick?"

"Stop pretending! Terminal lung cancer!" I roared. "The doctor said she's dying!"

Blondie quickly stood up, a flash of panic in her eyes, but she quickly regained composure. "Darling, don't let her fool you. This is just her sob story, using illness to try to win you back!"

"A sob story?" I couldn't believe it. "She's dying!"

"Think about it—after she filed for divorce and you agreed, of course she had to use other methods!" Blondie walked toward me, her voice becoming shrill. "This kind of woman will do anything!"

I remembered Patty's recording and those blurred memory fragments, and anger surged within me. "What about Patty? Was she acting too? She just wanted to make me a night light!"

Blondie's face instantly changed. "Don't mention that bastard child!"

"What did you say?" Fury blazed in my eyes. Bastard child? How could she say that about a child?

Feeling out of control, Blondie screamed hysterically: "She was acting! She even deliberately let Patty have that accident to get revenge on you! She killed that child!"

This statement was the last straw. Something blocking my mind began to loosen, and more memory fragments flooded in:

—A woman smiling gently in the library, sunlight falling on her face...

—She carefully tended to me when I was sick, her palms warm and soft...

—Her pregnant form caressing her belly, her face glowing with maternal radiance...

—A baby's cry, and her tear-streaked but blissful expression...

These images became clearer and clearer, yet remained fragmented like puzzle pieces. Had I loved her? Had we really been happy once?

"Enough!" I roared, the beautiful images in my mind forming a stark contrast with Blondie's words. "I'm remembering some things... We used to... I used to love them..."

Blondie's face went pale. "No... impossible... you have amnesia... those are false memories..."

"Stop!" My voice trembled. Though my memories were still incomplete, I was certain something had been hidden from me. "How many lies have you told me?"

I turned to leave, but Blondie frantically blocked my way. "If you go to her, you'll regret it for the rest of your life! She's dying! You can't change anything!"

I pushed her away, the disgust in my eyes crystal clear. "I already regret it for the rest of my life! Whatever our past relationship was, I lost them! I lost everything!"

I stormed out of the mansion, leaving Blondie standing alone in the living room.

---

In the mansion, Blondie picked up the phone and dialed a number. Her voice was cold and vicious:

"Move up the timeline. Strike tonight. Make sure she can never speak again."

A man's voice came through the phone: "Understood. We'll make it look like an accident."

Blondie hung up and looked at the lightning outside the window, a twisted smile spreading across her face. "Since you won't listen, don't blame me for being ruthless. Once she's dead, you'll only belong to me."

In the shabby apartment, Freya sat weakly by the window, holding little Kitty in her arms. She watched the storm outside, completely unaware that danger was approaching.

She gently stroked the cat's fur, saying weakly: "Kitty, mommy will soon go to be with Patty... you must be good..."

Lightning illuminated her pale face. She had no idea that Stanley was racing through the stormy night, desperately trying to make amends in these final moments.