Chapter 4

A few days later, my mother’s attending physician contacted me. The top neurosurgeon would begin seeing patients in half a month. Because of my mother’s particular case, the doctor had applied to the director on my behalf and gotten her an extra consultation slot.

Half the weight on my chest finally lifted. For the next half month, I went to the inpatient wing every day after work.

That day I had just stepped into the elevator when the doors, nearly shut, were pushed open again. Ethan and Stella walked in side by side.

Stella had clearly forgotten who I was already; her eyes passed over me and moved on. But Ethan’s step faltered, almost imperceptibly.

“Thank you, my wonderful boyfriend.” Stella clung to his arm, acting coy. “You got my mom the best room and even jumped the queue for her full workup. To thank you — how about I come to your place tonight? I want your homemade pasta.”

I stared at the floor buttons with no expression. A few seconds later, I heard the man answer in a low voice. “Okay.”

The elevator stopped at my floor. The moment I stepped out, I decided I’d spend the night at the Hyatt nearby.

I’d just showered and gotten into bed when my phone buzzed.

“When are you coming home?” Ethan’s voice sounded especially low in the quiet of the night. “Dinner’s ready. I’m waiting for you.”

I was too sleepy to open my eyes. I buried my face in the pillow and mumbled, “Aren’t you with Stella... I was afraid I’d walk in on you two and there’d be no explaining it. I’ll stay out one night.”

Silence on the other end. Then his voice dropped. “Don’t trouble yourself over nothing. Send me the hotel address. I’ll come get you.”

“No.” I rolled over irritably. “I’m already asleep. Don’t wake me.”

Unexpectedly, he didn’t get angry. There was even a rare, indulgent laugh. “This grumpy after waking up? Sleep, then. I won’t bother you.”

The next day at noon, Ethan called again.

“I forgot to ask yesterday — what were you doing at the hospital?” His tone was light.

Mindful of the no-crossing-the-line warning in that supplementary agreement, I made it sound as minor as I could. “My mom’s in the hospital. Small thing. She’ll be out soon.”

“If you need help with anything, contact my chief assistant directly.” He paused, and the sound of his fingertips tapping the desk came down the line — a habit of his when he was thinking. “What time do you nap from now on? I’ll call you then.”

I was completely lost. I had no idea what new torment the great capitalist was up to.

On the morning of the specialist’s clinic day, I happened to catch Stella chatting at the nurses’ station.

She was biting into an apple, listening to a nurse mention offhand that a top neurosurgeon was coming that afternoon.

“A professor? What professor?” Stella asked, thoughtful.

The nurse explained that he was a leading authority on brain tumors. And in that moment, watching the calculation flicker through Stella’s eyes, a violent unease surged up in my chest.