Chapter 582 Discharge from Hospital
Celeste shook her head. "Michael, chill out. Ms. Stuart knows more than you think."
Michael slammed the soup container onto the table, causing the hot liquid to splash out and burn his hand, but he didn't seem to notice. He glared at Celeste, his voice rough. "You're all pushing me."
Celeste watched his near breakdown and sighed. "Michael, you need to calm down. Some things can't be forced."
Michael let out a bitter laugh, turned, and stormed off, his posture rigid and resolute. Celeste watched him go, her brow furrowed, but she didn't follow.
At the end of the hallway, Michael stopped and punched the wall. The pain in his knuckles brought him a moment of clarity, but the anger and hurt inside him remained.
"George," he muttered, his eyes dark.
As the morning light filtered through the curtains into the hospital room, Emma had already packed her things. Her slender fingers brushed the edge of the bed, still warm from George's touch the night before. Outside, sparrows chirped in the sycamore tree, adding a touch of life to the otherwise quiet morning. The door opened, and Michael stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light. His black coat outlined his tall frame, and he held a bouquet of white tulips, their petals glistening with morning dew. The scent of the flowers mixed with the hospital's antiseptic smell, filling the air.
"The doctor said you can go home today," Michael's voice was gentle but firm. His gaze swept over the empty cot where George had kept vigil, noting the neatly folded jacket and the cold cup of coffee.
Emma took the bouquet, her fingers accidentally brushing Michael's hand. The touch reminded her of that rainy night three years ago when he had shielded her from the flames with an umbrella, stepping into her life. The scent of the flowers lingered, but it couldn't mask the bitterness rising in her heart.
Just then, the door opened again. George walked in holding Lucas, who carried a handful of paper cranes. Lucas held them up proudly. "Mom, these are magic cranes that bring good luck! I wrote wishes on each one!" His eyes sparkled like the brightest stars in the night sky.
The air suddenly felt heavy. Michael's fingers made a faint cracking sound in his coat pocket as his gaze shifted between Lucas and George, finally settling on Emma's pale face.
"George," Emma spoke softly, her voice barely audible, "I need to talk to Michael alone." Her fingers unconsciously stroked the tulip stems, staining her fingertips with green sap.
George's pupils contracted sharply. Lucas sensed the tension and tugged at his father's shirt, whispering, "Dad, aren't we here to take Mom home?"
"Alright," George's response was almost a growl. He bent down to pick up Lucas, who clung to George's shoulder, his eyes fixed on Emma until they disappeared around the corner. Lucas's innocent voice echoed down the hallway, "Mom, get well soon."
Sophia was trimming roses in the garden when she saw Michael's car pull into the driveway. She set down her silver shears, her fingers trembling slightly from the flower sap. Emma stepped out of the car, her face even paler than before she was hospitalized. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on her face.
"Mom," Emma said as she was helped to a seat. Sunlight streamed through the wisteria trellis, casting delicate patterns on her face. She took the hot coffee Sophia handed her, the steam warming her features.
Sophia brought over a glass of honey lemon water, the spoon clinking against the rim. "They're both good men," Sophia said suddenly, her gaze thoughtful. "Michael has cared for you for three years, but George is Lucas's father." Her words cut into Emma's heart like a dull knife, slow but unyielding.
Emma stared into the glass, her mind flashing back to the fire that changed everyone's lives three years ago. George's silhouette in the flames and Michael's unwavering support over the past four years replayed in her mind. Every birthday rose, every night of vigil during illness, every comforting hug during tears.
"I understand," Emma finally said, her nails digging crescent-shaped marks into her palm. Outside, the cicadas began to chirp, their piercing sound mocking her indecision.
As dusk fell, Michael presented a gift box containing a champagne-colored silk dress. Emma ran her fingers over the pearl-embroidered iris at the waist, the mirror reflecting a stranger's beauty. The dress's perfect cut accentuated her slender waist, and the backless design showcased her graceful neck and shoulders.
"It suits you," Michael said, standing behind her, his fingers gently brushing her hair as he fastened matching pearl earrings. His touch was incredibly tender, but his gaze was inscrutable.
The restaurant was in a rotating hall overlooking the city. The crystal chandelier cast a soft glow on Michael's silhouette as he elegantly sliced his steak, his movements like an artist at work. The restaurant was filled with soothing piano music, and the waiter silently refilled their champagne glasses.
"Do you remember the night we saw 'The Magic Flute'?" he asked suddenly. The light from the silver fork reflected in his eyes like tiny diamonds.
Emma's knife made a faint sound against the porcelain plate. It was during their second year traveling with Seraphine and Elsera, the image of the little girl asleep on his shoulder in the opera house still saved on her phone.
"Michael," she set down her glass, the champagne rippling with tiny waves, "you've known for a long time..."
"Try this," Michael interrupted, pushing a plate of raspberry mousse topped with gold leaf towards her, "I had it made especially for you."
Michael's fingers subtly brushed the rim of her glass, a small pill dissolving silently into her champagne. The restaurant's string quartet switched to Debussy's "Clair de Lune," the music flowing over her hesitation.
"I..." Emma began, but her vision suddenly blurred. The chandelier's light expanded into colorful swirls, and Michael's face alternated between clarity and fuzziness. She instinctively reached for the table, touching something cold.
"Will you marry me?"
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