"Don't let your emotions and presumptions fool you, my sister," Monica said, her voice calm but firm.
"I'm not like you!" Marina snapped, her words laced with anger.
"It's true, I met her that day. And what about that?" Monica's tone remained composed, almost indifferent.
"And she's dead!" The little sister fired back.
"What's relevant?" Monica replied, her voice cool, almost unnervingly detached.
"What?" Marina's voice cracked, shocked by her sister's response.
"Is that the reason you're mad at me? Because I met her, and now she's dead?" Monica asked, her calmness cutting deeper than any shout.
"It's a long story—your motives, your actions..." Marina started, her words faltering.
"So, you're suspicious of me? You think I had something to do with her death? Funny," Monica said, a faint smirk in her voice.
"Funny?" Marina echoed, her disbelief turning to frustration.
"Marina, stop. I'm tired of this," Monica said, her tone growing colder.
"No..."
"I'm hanging up."
"No... no!" Mari's voice grew desperate, but Monica had already made up her mind.
"What the hell?" Mari whispered to herself, staring at the empty screen as the call ended abruptly. The younger sister called back, and after a moment, the older one answered with a deep breath.
"What?" she said.
"Monica, you seem heartless!" she accused, her voice trembling with both anger and disbelief.
"Say what you want," Monica replied coldly. "But tell me—how do you even know all this? And if you have more doubts, lay them out now."
Marina hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "I went with Dad to her hometown and came back before nightfall. But you—you went the day she died."
Monica's expression remained unreadable as Marina continued, her tone sharpening.
"You told me you went out to meet someone, your friend. But it turns out it was Dara's mom... Have you forgotten?"
"That's too normal, my sister," the big sister replied with a hint of impatience. "Next time, stop exaggerating things. Be humble, and I'll see you soon, okay?"
"Don't be easy on me and hard on everyone else," Marina shot back, her frustration evident.
Monica didn't respond to the above point. "I'm off now," she said curtly before hanging up.
She placed the phone aside, her fingers lingering on the screen for a moment before she closed her eyes, her thoughts swirling in silence.
***
Breakfast was laid out on the table, ready for the family of three—Mr. Heng, Madam Dalin, and Monica. Heng sat at the head of the table, his presence commanding. Dalin, moving about the kitchen, helped the housemaid set the final plate on the table.
Monica, her face drained and her eyes heavy with exhaustion, descended the stairs, her dark blue suit sharp against her weary demeanor. She carried her purse, her movements slow and deliberate.
"Come sit here, Monic!" Dalin called out warmly, a hint of concern in her voice.
"Yes," Monica replied, her voice distant as she took her seat.
Monica took a seat face to face with Dalin, her posture stiff and her mood distant. Heng picked up his spoon, his gaze lingering over the table. Nuth, a housemate, served Monica, but she stopped her with a soft yet resolute tone.
"Just a little porridge, please. I have no appetite," Monica murmured.
Heng's eyes softened as he caught her words, the weight of them sinking in.
"Let's eat," he said, his voice low but commanding.
They ate in silence, until Heng's gaze fell on his daughter, noticing her lack of appetite.
"Daughter!" he called, breaking the stillness.
"Yes?" she replied, her eyes still distant, her tone flat.
"What time did you arrive home last night?" Heng asked, his gaze unwavering.
Dalin, sitting across Monica, shot a hard look at her stepdaughter but said nothing.
"Umm...Around 12," daughter responded, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Why?" Heng pressed, his tone sharp.
"Why? What do you mean?" Monica's confusion only seemed to irritate him more.
"I told you not to stay up late. You don't seem to remember..." Heng's words carried an edge.
"That's OK, Dad," Dalin interjected, attempting to diffuse the growing tension.
Monica took a slow, deep breath, trying to calm herself. Heng didn't relent.
"You don't understand why I'm doing all this… or you just don't care about my words," he continued.
"I'm not like what you're saying," Monica snapped back. "We just spent time talking, we didn't do anything!"
"So, why stay until 12pm.?"
"Are you afraid I'm going to get pregnant before marriage and my kid won't have a father to call?"
"Monica!" Heng slammed his spoon down with force, the noise sharp in the quiet room. Monica mirrored his gesture, her frustration boiling over.
"Watch your mouth, or..." Heng began, his anger simmering.
"Or what?" Monica shot back, her voice defiant.
"You're... Reckless!" Heng growled.
"I'm moving out!" Monica stood up, her chair scraping the floor, her resolve set.
"Stay still!" Heng barked, but Monica ignored him.
"I'm tired of all this," she muttered, her voice breaking as she turned toward the door.
"You dare take a step!" Heng's voice thundered behind her.
"You never trust me anyway," Monica said, her tone final and cutting.
Heng was about to stand up, but Dalin quickly placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.
Meanwhile, Monica took a few steps away from the table, Her legs ached with every step, the muscles screaming in protest.
She reached out, her trembling hands gripping the edge of the wooden table, using it to steady herself as she fought to stay upright, her head spinning. Her vision blurred, and the world around her seemed to tilt, the floor slipping beneath her feet.
Suddenly, she collapsed, falling to the ground with a soft thud. Her body crumpled, and the room seemed to hold its breath. Heng and Dalin were frozen in shock, unable to move.
The housemaid rushed in, kneeling beside Monica, her hands trembling as she tried to help.
"Monic!" Heng's voice was frantic as he rushed toward his daughter, his anger and concern melting into pure fear.
***
Sophea stood beside her beloved daughter, who lay motionless in the hospital bed, IV fluids dripping into her arm.
Monica's face was pale, her body still, and the quiet beep of the monitor was the only sound in the room. Sophea's eyes were filled with a mixture of concern and sadness, her gaze never leaving her daughter's face.
Heng sat on the sofa, a few feet away, his hands clasped tightly together, his expression a mix of guilt and helplessness.
A female doctor entered with a prescription in hand, and both of the elders stood up.
"She is experiencing significant stress, inadequate rest, and sleep deprivation. Additionally, there are signs of compartment syndrome. We must be vigilant and follow the healing instructions carefully to ensure proper recovery."
"What actions should we take to help her recover, for example?" Heng asked, his voice laced with concern.
The doctor nodded, her tone serious but calm.
"She needs a period of complete rest, both physically and mentally. Adequate sleep is crucial, and she must avoid any strenuous activities. But for now, further medical interventions like physical therapy or surgical treatment could be considered."
"Surgery? When? " Heng asked
"As soon as possible, your as her parents will meet group doctor to prepare surgery in 6-8 hours ahead"
"Is there any other method to cure besides surgery? What is compartment syndrome by the way?" Sophea asked.
The doctor explained, her tone clear and professional.
"Compartment syndrome is a condition where increased pressure within a muscle compartment impairs blood flow, potentially leading to muscle and nerve damage. It can occur due to trauma, overuse, or, in this case, overwhelming physical and emotional stress. If left untreated, it can lead to permanent damage, which is why immediate care and monitoring are crucial."
"Thank you doctor," Heng replied with a sad face.
"You're very welcome! If you need any more help, feel free to ask. Take care!"
***
Next day after surgery, Monica was feeling better, though her both legs bandaged. Her bag and her belongings are placed on the table next to her.
She propped up against the headboard, her phone in hand as she scrolled through it absentmindedly.
Visak entered the room and gently took the phone from her grasp.
"Give it to me," he said softly, his voice filled with concern.
Monica looked at him, slightly puzzled.
"If you're afraid of losing your job and not earning money, I'll take care of you for the rest of my life," Visak added, his gaze tender.
"I have things to do," Monica replied, though her voice was weak, as though she still wasn't fully ready to let go of her responsibilities.
"You have to get well first," Visak insisted, her tone firm but caring.
"I know," Monica replied quietly, her gaze softening.
Visak's expression remained serious as he continued, "No matter how important work is to you, if you're sick, everything else becomes useless."
Then she stayed silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling in. After a deep breath, she finally nodded, calming down and agreeing to follow the advice, understanding the importance of healing first.