Chapter 446 Token of Love
The emergency exit sign at the end of the hallway still emitted its eerie green glow, casting a cold light over the silent, oppressive corner. I was curled up on the bench, my fingertips unconsciously tracing the intricate carvings on the surface of the music box. My trembling fingers repeatedly brushed over the vine patterns, the cold touch spreading from my fingertips to my entire body.
This was the birthday gift Edward had bought for Skylar at the charity auction. Now, my sweat-drenched palm left tiny watermarks on the box's surface. The music box gradually became damp, its warm wooden color reflecting a deep luster under the dim hallway lights. I stared at it, my thoughts drifting back to the auction: Edward's confident demeanor as he raised his paddle, the curve of his smile, and the sparkle in his eyes, all vividly replaying in my mind.
The emergency room door remained tightly shut, isolating me from the unknown fears beyond. I pressed the music box to my ear, trying to draw some comfort from its wooden exterior, but all I could hear was the erratic beating of my own heart. The pounding in my chest was palpable, mingling with the distant sound of ambulance sirens.
Outside, the night was thick and dark, occasionally pierced by the wail of an ambulance, which quickly faded back into the darkness. My crystal dress was covered in dust, the torn zipper at the back letting in the cold wind, but I no longer felt the chill.
My thoughts kept wandering through past memories: Edward shielding me amidst a hail of bullets, a bullet grazing his collar and sparking; Anne's terrified screams and Fiona's heart-wrenching sobs; and those encrypted ledgers filled with records of sinister transactions, documenting countless lives and hopes. These scenes played on a loop in my mind, making it hard to breathe.
I didn't know how much time had passed, but finally, the sky in the east began to lighten.
Morning light filtered through the hospital windows, casting long shadows on the floor. The shadows moved slowly as time ticked by. I lifted my head, looking at the gradually brightening sky, my eyelashes still wet with last night's tears. The tears glistened faintly in the morning light.
Just then, the emergency room door opened with a soft creak, breaking the night's silence.
The doctor removed his mask, a hint of relief on his tired face. "Edward is out of danger. With proper rest, he should wake up soon."
My legs were numb from sitting for so long, feeling as heavy as lead. But I still managed to stand up, staggering as I held onto the wall, making my way to the hospital room step by step. Each step was difficult, yet determined, as if this short distance was a journey between life and death.
As I pushed open the door, the smell of disinfectant mixed with a faint hint of blood. Edward lay quietly on the bed, his face pale, but his chest rising and falling rhythmically. His lips were colorless, his eye sockets slightly sunken, and his once vibrant face now looked so haggard.
I sat by the bed, gently holding his hand, the cold touch bringing tears to my eyes again. The hand that was once warm and strong now had no warmth at all.
I carefully opened the music box, and "Token of Love" began to play, the beautiful melody slowly flowing through the room.
The familiar tune echoed in the disinfectant-scented space, bringing a touch of warmth and hope.
"Remember when you played this on the piano?" I choked up, my voice barely a whisper. "Skylar's birthday gift... we can still give it to her ourselves."
In that moment, all the fear and uncertainty gradually dissipated in the dawn's light, leaving only the relief of surviving and hope for the future.
The pungent smell of disinfectant lingered in the room as the morning light slowly climbed up Edward's brow, casting shadows from his eyelashes onto the dark circles beneath his eyes.
I stared at the green numbers on the monitor, my knuckles unconsciously tapping the metal armrest of the chair. The slight sound of the metal door hinge turning made me look up to see Melissa standing at the door with a thermos.
The surface of the thermos was covered in tiny droplets of water, trickling down and leaving dark marks on her khaki apron. Her graying hair was damp with sweat, sticking to her flushed cheeks, and a few strands clung together, swaying gently with her breath.
Seeing her, I quickly stood up to support her.
The rich aroma of beef vegetable soup, mixed with the scent of toasted bread and her familiar homely smell, filled my nostrils. The warmth from the food spread over my hand, bringing the comforting temperature of the kitchen.
Melissa didn't say a word, silently placing the thermos on the bedside table, her movements gentle, careful not to disturb Edward. She then took out a piece of bread wrapped in foil from her bag, her fingers hesitating for a moment at the foil's edge, feeling the temperature before handing it to me. "Eat something. I baked it fresh this morning."
"Thanks, Melissa." I took the bread, feeling the warmth of her palm, my eyes welling up. "You got up early again."
Melissa turned away to tidy up the thermos, her voice slightly muffled. "It's nothing. Mr. Howard is badly hurt. You need to eat to have the strength to take care of him."
Amid the steady beeping of the monitor, Edward's fingers twitched unconsciously.
Melissa quickly held down his hand to prevent him from pulling out the IV, her palm covering the needle on the back of his hand, while her other hand smoothed the blanket. I looked at her wrinkled hands, memories flooding back.
Countless nights, those hands gently patted a crying Skylar to sleep, sometimes still dusted with baking sugar, lightly brushing against Skylar's soft blanket.
"Remember when Skylar had her first fever? You stayed up all night with her."
I said softly, my gaze falling on the new burn marks on her hand. "You always treat us like children."
Melissa paused, her throat moving as she continued to straighten Edward's blanket. "In my eyes, you'll always be children who need care."
"Skylar doesn't know yet." Melissa's voice was low, muffled in her chest.
But her movements were steady as she ladled soup from the thermos, the porcelain spoon clinking softly against the bowl.
She pushed the bowl of soup towards me, her calloused fingers brushing against my cold hand for a moment before pulling away. That brief touch reminded me of my mother comforting me when I was a child.
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