Chapter 60 Are You Hiding Something from Me?
Margaret flashed a casual grin, trying to look chill.
Nancy's face went all serious. She shot her a glare and cut in, "What the heck are you talking about? How could you just up and die? Margaret, don't say stuff like that."
Margaret shrugged, "Mom, chill out. I'm just messing around. No one knows if tomorrow or some freak accident's gonna hit first."
Margaret kept that easy smile, but seeing those sudden white hairs on Nancy's head hit her hard. "Mom, I just want you and Dad to be okay, no matter what happened."
Nancy squinted, eyeing Margaret in the wheelchair. "Margaret, are you hiding something from me?"
As she stared, Nancy suddenly covered her mouth, her eyes went red, and tears started streaming down.
Nancy turned away, trying to wipe her tears.
But they just kept coming.
Margaret smiled. "What could I possibly be hiding from you?"
She was exhausted from fake smiles. But in front of Nancy, she had to keep it up to make her feel better.
Nancy looked at her again, face soaked with tears, and asked, "Really?"
Margaret asked, "When have I ever lied to you?"
Nancy felt a bit of relief. "That's true. Margaret, listen to me; it's okay; really okay."
Nancy squatted down, looking right at Margaret in the wheelchair, and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I don't blame you, and your dad loves you so much, he wouldn't blame you either. Remember the day he had that car accident? It was so bad, but he still shook his head at me, telling me not to blame you."
Nancy went on, "The Hughes family is gone, so what? It's okay to pick the wrong person; we'll always have your back. You don't need to beat yourself up for marrying the wrong guy, got it?"
"We only have you, and all we want is for you to be happy and safe. Even though things didn't go as planned, life goes on.
"The doc said your dad will wake up in a month. Let's hang in there a bit longer. When he wakes up, we'll be a happy family again, okay? Don't do anything stupid; your dad and I couldn't handle it.
"I can't imagine being told one day that you're gone. I'd lose it, I'd fall apart, I wouldn't be able to go on, Margaret. Promise me, live well, for yourself, for us, okay? Life's precious, we only get one shot."
Nancy's face was red, tears falling like crazy, veins popping on her forehead, her tone pleading, like she was trying hard to hold something back.
Margaret reached out to wipe Nancy's tears. As Nancy cried, she cried too.
The sorrow in her heart had already wrapped around her, making it hard to breathe.
She also wanted to live well, but she didn't have that chance anymore. Late-stage cancer, even treatment was pointless.
The doc had said, "Eat what you want, do what you want, don't leave any regrets."
Nancy cried, her voice shaking. "Margaret, say something. Promise me, okay? Are you still mad that I slapped you? I was just so mad at Raymond. I'm sorry."
Margaret wiped her tears and nodded. "I told you it was just hypothetical. You know, I'm most afraid of pain and cherish my life the most. How could I do anything stupid? I will live well, wait for Dad to wake up, and bring him home."
Nancy asked again, "No backing out?"
Margaret smiled. "No backing out."
Only then did Nancy stop crying and smile.
Margaret asked, "Mom, do you ever regret having a daughter like me? If it weren't for me, you and Dad wouldn't be in this mess."
Nancy shook her head, "Margaret, don't say stuff like that. I gave birth to you, and I love you to bits. You're amazing. Never regretted having you."
Half an hour later, Margaret called Mary to come pick her up and take her home.
Mary showed up with a thermos and wheeled Margaret away.
Before they left, Nancy tried to slip Mary some cash, asking her to take good care of Margaret.
Mary waved it off. "Taking care of Ms. Hughes is my job, no need for extra payment."
Back at the Hughes Manor, Margaret asked Mary to find her notebook, and Mary headed to the kitchen to whip up dinner.
Opening the notebook, Margaret grabbed a pen, her handwriting neat and strong: [Life countdown: 20 days. Personally pick up Dad from the hospital, get the gift from Ashley, find out the truth about Raymond's parents' death. So much to do. I don't want to die, I can't die.]
A yellowed photo slipped out of the notebook and hit the floor.
She bent down, struggling to pick it up.
The photo showed a boy in a white shirt running.
She couldn't remember when this photo was taken.
She only remembered that she had taken it secretly.
In her memory, a group of boys surrounded another boy, punching and kicking him.
They even peed on him and mocked him.
Margaret couldn't stand it anymore and ran out to confront them, claiming to be the boy's sister and saying she had called the cops.
The group of young thugs got scared and ran off.
Margaret pulled up the boy, who was covered in urine, but he didn't appreciate it, shook off her hand, and ran away. She thought the boy was quite unique, maybe a mute, and took this photo casually.
Later, she returned to Silverbrook and occasionally thought of this mute boy, wondering if he was being bullied again.
She had someone secretly investigate the boy, but there was no news.
There was finally a response until she handed the matter to Sarah.
Sarah told her the boy was at Hope Haven Orphanage, a mute, very pitiful, always being bullied.
Margaret felt even more sympathy for him. Without any hesitation, she gave Sarah her one-year allowance of one million dollars, and Sarah brought back a receipt.
However, neither the receipt was fake nor the orphanage information was true.
Margaret stared blankly out the window at the already bare branches. In her lifetime, could she see the mute boy again?
Was the mute boy still alive in this world?
Margaret opened the notebook and wrote with a pen: [See the mute boy one last time, confirm if he is living happily.]
After finishing these things, she could walk towards the end of her life without any regrets.
While waiting for dinner, Margaret was very bored, doodling with her pen.
Mary called Margaret to have dinner and saw the handwriting in the notebook, covering her mouth and laughing, "So Ms. Hughes, you like Mr. Howard."
Margaret denied it. "Don't talk nonsense."
Mary pointed to the handwriting on the new notebook's title page, laughing. "How am I talking nonsense? Ms. Hughes, you wrote it yourself. Look."
Margaret came to her senses, looked down, her face red and hot.
The originally blank title page was filled with "Margaret likes Raymond," densely packed with longing, each stroke strong and powerful.
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