After leaving the apartment, Noah decided to head to the hospital nearby.
With a smirk on his face, Noah thought, “Time to pay a certain friend a visit.”
Arriving at the hospital, Noah did not ask for directions.
He knew where he was going.
As he arrived in front of the room, he entered nonchalantly without anyone noticing him.
As he closed the door behind him, his eyes showed surprise as he saw an old lady holding a cane on the chair sitting next to the unconscious Horace.
The old woman’s eyes became wide with a startled expression, but she stayed still in her seat and did not turn to look at him.
She gripped the top of her cane tightly, her frail fingers shaking slightly.
“Who’s there?” Her voice was low and worn, each word escaping with a slight tremor.
“Doctor…?”
Noah stood there silently for a moment, observing her, a thoughtful look passing over his face.
He waved his hand subtly in front of her face. However, she didn’t flinch or react.
“She is blind.” He thought.
He pressed his lips into a thin line, cleared his throat softly and put on a gentle tone.
“Hello, madam. I’m just the nurse.”
“I’m not the doctor. However, I’m here to check on Horace per the usual routine,” he said casually, careful to keep his voice calm and soothing.
The old woman nodded slowly, though her movements were marked with that same frail, persistent shake.
Her whole body seemed to tremble slightly, her posture slumped down by her illness and age.
She gave him a small, grateful nod.
“Thank you… I appreciate it,” she whispered.
After pretending to rumble through his notes and perform checks on Horace, Noah finally took a seat on the chair next to her.
He looked at her, she was a good mother who had stayed by her son’s side, despite everything, despite what little hope remained in her heart.
“How is he doing, Doctor?” she asked, her voice thick with a mix of worry and resignation.
She hadn’t quite registered he wasn’t a doctor, just clinging to the title, perhaps because it offered some faint comfort.
Noah sighed, his expression neutral.
“He’s… the same as before, madam,” he replied. “But… how are you holding up? Do you need anything?”
Her thin, shaking hands clutched her cane tighter, as if it were the only anchor she had left in her world.
“I’m alright, thank you,” she murmured.
But the slight catch in her voice betrayed her.
It was the answer of someone who had been strong for too long, who had no choice but to be alright because the alternative was despair.
There was a pause, as Noah watched her, a question lingering on his lips before he finally spoke.
“Do you… hate the person who did this to your son?”
The old woman fell silent, her lips pressing together as she considered the question.
After a long pause, she released a weary sigh.
“Hate…” she began softly, “hate doesn’t quite cover it, but… it’s complicated.”
She lowered her head, a single tear slipping down her cheek, trailing through the fine lines on her face.
“I know my son,” she whispered. “Ever since he was a teenager… he was never innocent. I know that.”
Her voice wavered, but she continued. “He’s made mistakes, big ones… he wasn’t an easy child, not an easy man. He’s done things I’m not proud of.”
She took a shuddering breath, looking as if she was reliving memories she would rather forget. “So yes, maybe… maybe he deserved something. Some punishment, some… lesson. But this?”
Her voice cracked as the tears began to fall more freely.
“Whoever did this… they’re not just punishing him. They’re punishing me, punishing us.” She shook her head slowly, the grief spilling out as she clutched her cane even tighter, knuckles whitening.
“They should have either let him go or…” Her voice trailed off, then hardened slightly, carrying a tone Noah hadn’t heard from her until now. “Or killed him. If he had to suffer for what he’d done, they could have at least spared him and us this endless pain.”
Noah’s expression remained stoic, she wasn’t looking for pity.
She wasn’t pleading for sympathy. She was simply sharing the weight of her sorrow, a sorrow so deep it was beyond anger, beyond revenge.
“We can’t keep him here for much longer…” Her voice was barely a whisper now.
“The expenses, they’re too much. Every day he stays here, it takes a bit more of what little we have left. Soon, we won’t have anything left at all.”
She looked away, her sightless eyes fixed on nothing, her voice shaking. “We’ll lose everything, and he will die anyway. Slowly, painfully… and we’ll be left with nothing.”
For a moment, Noah was silent. He looked at the frail woman, her thin shoulders slumped down by a lifetime of suffering and a love that could not abandon her son, even in his darkest days.
He remained silent for a while, “I see, rest easy madame. I need to go.”
The old woman merely smiled a sad, almost hollow smile that spoke of acceptance. “This is my burden,” she muttered silently and simply. “A mother’s heart… it doesn’t abandon, no matter what.”
Noah walked out of the hospital room, closing the door softly behind him, leaving the grieving mother and her son in their own quiet but suspended world.
The corridor stretched out before him, the distant hum of medical equipment filled the silence, faint and detached, just as he felt in that moment.
He took a slow breath, his face as calm as a glass lake, every feature on his face showing nothing.
There was no guilt, no second thoughts.
His emotions were as smooth and still as his expression.
This was what he had chosen—a path where weakness, regret, and second-guessing held no place.
“I know the future will be worse,” He muttered silently.
He knew it had begun, truly begun. Horace was merely the first ripple in the vast sea of choices he was going to make.
His choices will soon affect millions, let alone one Horace.
Creation is hard, cheer me up!
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