Chapter 277
Melanie sat on a bench in the hospital corridor, her face devoid of color. She was not sure when the call on her phone was disconnected.
Howard’s words echoed in her mind repeatedly, alternating with images of her grandfather lying in a hospital bed, tubes protruding from his body.
Melanie’s throat felt as if it were being tightly squeezed. Even expelling a breath required a significant effort. Her face was cold to the touch, and she numbly reached up to caress her check when she felt some dampness. Was she crying?
She stared at her moist fingertips and got lost in thought. Eugene was right. She had indeed thought too highly of herself, believing that she alone could move Eugene and improve her grandfather’s condition.
How could that be possible?
Melanie’s shoulders drooped, her long hair falling and obscuring her view and expression. She heard footsteps approaching her and smelled a familiar, cool scent mingled with disinfectant. It permeated her senses.
“Thinking about getting your grandfather to undergo surgery?” Her body tensed when she heard Eugene’s cold and steady voice.
His words lacked any emotion. Melanie slowly lifted her head and looked at him, a tear still clinging to the corner of her eye. When she raised her gaze to meet Eugene’s indifferent expression, she saw an emotion in his dark, inscrutable eyes that she could not quite understand.
He looked down at her condescendingly. “Do you want to?”
A moment passed, and Melanie’s bewildered mind slowly began to work before she hoarsely asked, “What are your conditions?”
She stared at Eugene, her beautiful eyes devoid of their usual liveliness. They resembled a deep and unfathomable icy pool, calm and ripple–free. Eugene’s eyes narrowed slightly as he casually replied, “This is a problem for you to settle. Why do you think I’d help you?”
Melanie’s face was already pale. When she heard what Eugene said, she showed no reaction and just continued to gaze at him.
Eugene’s eyebrows twitched. He stared at her for a moment before reaching out to pinch Melanie’s chin.
Calmly, he said, “I’m not a philanthropist, Melanie.”
His fingertips were gentle, and there was a subtle force in the hand gripping Melanie’s chin. Melanie’s face was tilted upward with the force of his grip. She understood what Eugene was saying,
He would help her, but the condition was that she had to satisfy him and make him willing to help her.
After Eugene left, Melanie lingered alone in the corridor for a long time before returning to the ward to see her grandfather. She happened to witness the nurses turning him over and
thought how he looked like a puppet being pushed around by them.
He now spoke very indistinctly. Standing at the door, Melanie could only hear vague sounds of agreement.
It was heart–wrenching to listen to.
She could not bear to watch any longer. It was not until the nurses left the ward that Melanie gathered herself and went in again.
Despite her efforts to mentally prepare herself during this period, every time she saw her grandfather in this state, those carefully constructed psychological defenses would just collapse once again.
While massaging her grandfather, Melanie noticed that his nails had grown long. She took out a nail clipper and trimmed them for him.
As she looked at his hands–the hands that had once held her, combed her hair, and taught her to write–she realized how dry and stiff they were. They were like withered wood.
While cutting her grandfather’s nails, her vision suddenly blurred. She could endure Howard’s reprimands and Eugene’s humiliation, but looking at her grandfather, emaciated and connected to tubes, she could not hold back her emotions.
Why did it have to be like this? Why did it have to be her?
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