Chapter 2

The next day, I arrived at the courthouse on time.

By nine o'clock, Richard still hadn't shown up. I didn't hesitate—I called him directly.

An exasperated voice snapped through the phone. "Queenie! Is this all you know how to do? Just make my life miserable?"

My voice remained steady. "Come sign the divorce papers, Richard. Don't make me lose what little respect I have left for you."

In the end, he came.

A signature, a stamp, and it was done.

Richard's face was grim. Then, as if he were holding back fury, he let out a short, bitter laugh. "Well, well… I really underestimated you. Don't forget what I said. Cammy's custody is mine. I'm giving you three days—pack your things and bring her to me. If you don't, I won't hesitate to take this to court."

I watched him storm off. I almost wanted to laugh. Instead, I felt the sharp tang of blood rising in my throat.

'Richard… Cammy is already gone. She died the same day Lacy's surgery was a success. Are you happy now? At least you won't have to waste money on a custody battle.'

I never went back to that house.

I had already burned all of Cammy's things. My own belongings—I threw them all away.

Every family photo? Cut to pieces.

Lately, my body had been failing me. The blood I coughed up often carried fragments of something darker.

I had insisted on finalizing the divorce not for freedom, not for revenge—just so I would no longer be tied to Richard. Not in life, and not in death.

That same day, I left with a suitcase I had long since packed. In my arms, I carried Cammy's urn. I went home.

My parents had always respected my choices.

Even back then, when they hadn't liked Richard, they had agreed to our marriage—because I had wanted it.

And now, they accepted my return the same way.

They looked at the urn in my arms. They saw what was left of me, a body so thin it barely held shape. They must have understood, but they didn't ask.

Instead, they simply cooked warm meals for me every day. They wiped the blood from my lips when I could no longer keep it down.

The day I coughed until my voice was gone, I saw the pain in their eyes. And for the first time, I regretted coming back.

I regretted disturbing them with my dying.

Maybe my mother sensed it. She held me tightly and, unable to stop herself, wept. "Queenie, we're glad you came home. To be by your side for this last stretch—how could we regret that?"

My own tears fell. Something in me, something I hadn't even known was clenched tight, finally eased.

It was a bright summer afternoon when I finally saw Cammy.

I was sitting in a rocking chair, a bowl of freshly washed grapes beside me. Sunlight spilled through the window, warm and golden.

And there she was. My darling daughter.

She wore her favorite white dress. She rested her chin on my lap, smiling up at me.

"Mommy! I can touch you now!"

I held her hand, looking up as my parents carefully placed my urn beside hers.

Two porcelain jars, nestled together—just like before, when she used to sleep curled up in my arms.

Cammy's bright eyes blinked up at me. "Mommy, Grandma and Grandpa can't see us anymore…"

I smoothed her hair. "But we're still in their hearts."

I didn't know why we were still here.

But now that my parents had made peace with it all, I had only one thing left to do.

I took Cammy's hand.

"Come on," I said. "Let's go see your daddy."

When she was alive, Richard had spent every moment in Lacy's hospital room.

Every day, Cammy had hoped—just once—that he would come see her.

He never did.

Now, I would grant her wish. Let her see him all she wanted.

At the hospital, Richard had just come off surgery.

Cammy's eyes lit up. She ran circles around him, unable to contain her excitement.

But Richard couldn't feel her presence. He sat down, exhausted, rubbing his temples.

A colleague doctor of his passed by. Richard looked up as if remembering something.

"Peter, before my daughter was discharged… how was she doing?"

The doctor smiled. "She was recovering beautifully. The treatment was timely—no complications at all."

My mind was full of doubt.

Ever since Richard admitted to switching the kidney source for Lacy, I could no longer trust him. Without hesitation, I had Cammy transferred to another hospital.

The doctors there helped us get in line for a new kidney donor. For Cammy's sake, after assessing her condition, I began bringing her home to recuperate. But three days later, her health took a sharp turn, and we had to rush back to the emergency room.

Yet, when we left Richard's hospital, Cammy's condition had never been stable. So why would this doctor say such a thing?

Richard believed him, though. He let out a breath, thanked Peter, and went back to work.

After he left, Peter scratched his head and muttered, "What's wrong with Richard? Hasn't he been following his daughter's case all along? The surgery on the 13th was a huge success, he even sent out gifts to the entire hospital. How could he forget so soon?"

I froze.

Cammy tugged at my hand, her eyes bright. "Mommy, did Daddy come to see me that day?"

My throat tightened. I couldn't speak.

The 13th. The day Cammy's emergency treatment failed. The day she passed away.

I could still recall her tiny figure under the white sheet, feel her cold little hands, and remember her pale face.

And on that same day, Lacy received the kidney that should have saved Cammy's life.

So in this hospital, everyone here believed Lacy was Richard's daughter.