Chapter 2My Ghost Still Protects My Son

The door never opened.

Toby eventually slumped back to my side, his eyes swollen nearly shut.

"Daddy, I'm sorry," he whispered, leaning his forehead against the cold metal rail of the bed. "I’m useless. I let the bad man take the room."

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

I could feel the heat leaving my body. I knew the end was seconds away, not minutes. But I couldn't let Toby see me go like this. I couldn't let his last memory be the light fading from my eyes in a hallway.

Summoning the very last of my strength, I forced a weak, trembling smile.

"Toby... hey, buddy. Daddy’s a little cold. Could you... go find me a blanket? Just a warm one?"

Toby froze for a second, then wiped his face frantically, hope flaring in his eyes.

"Yes! Okay! I'll get one. I'll get the warmest one they have."

"Daddy, you have to stay awake until I get back! Promise me! Stay right here!"

I watched his small silhouette sprint down the long, white corridor. As he turned the corner, I let my eyes drift shut.

Toby, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can wait.

When I opened my eyes again, the pain was gone. The heavy, suffocating weight in my chest had vanished. I was standing in the hallway, but my body—the pale, broken shell of it—remained on the gurney. I was a ghost, tethered to the only person I had left in this world.

I followed Toby. He was smart; he knew the gift shop was too far, so he scanned the open doors of the regular wards. He spotted a room where the door was ajar and ducked inside.

Inside, a young man sat up in bed. His wife was tucked beside him, meticulously smoothing a thick, navy-blue fleece blanket over his legs, ensuring every corner was perfect. Their son, a boy about Toby’s age, sat on the edge of the bed holding a warm cup of cocoa.

For a moment, Toby just stared. His eyes filled with a sudden, sharp longing. But he shook it off. He had a mission.

The young couple looked up, startled by the disheveled, bruised child in the doorway. The woman stood up, her face softening with concern as she brushed the dust off Toby’s shoulder.

"Sweetie? Are you okay? Where are your parents?"

Toby’s hands were shaking as he gripped his shirt. He swallowed hard. "Ma'am, my daddy is sick. He’s so cold. Could I borrow a blanket? I... I don't have my locket anymore, but I’ll do anything. Please help him."

The woman didn't hesitate. She grabbed a brand-new, wrapped blanket from the bedside cabinet and pressed it into Toby’s arms.

"Take it, honey. I hope your father feels better soon."

Maybe it was the sudden kindness after a night of cruelty, but Toby lost his words. He just clutched the plastic-wrapped blanket to his chest and bowed his head, over and over.

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

The woman waved him off gently. "Don't thank us. We didn't buy it."

"The hospital’s founder, Mrs. Madeline Santiago—she ordered them for everyone. She’s celebrating her husband’s successful surgery today. Every family got one as a gift."

"Look, there’s even a card with a photo of her and her husband on the front. If you want to thank someone, wish them a long and happy life together."

Toby froze. His eyes dropped to the small card tucked into the plastic. There was Madeline, glowing and beautiful, leaning her head on Sebastian’s shoulder. They looked like the perfect American power couple.

Then he remembered her hand around his throat, throwing him out into the hall. He remembered her laughing as she walked away from his dying father.

The tears started again, silent and hot.

"I'll... I'll be sure to thank Mrs. Santiago," he whispered.

My spirit felt a phantom ache in my chest, sharper than any surgical knife.

I remembered when Madeline used to love us. I remembered how she stayed up for three nights straight when Toby was born, obsessing over the perfect name. How she once bought out an entire FAO Schwarz display because Toby smiled at a train set. How she used to read him fairy tales while I fell asleep against her shoulder.

All of that died the day Sebastian came back into the country.

He used his "weak heart" as a leash. He staged fainting spells, played the victim, and slowly poisoned her against us. He even tricked Toby into putting a jar of caterpillars in his bed, then faked a panic-induced cardiac event just as Madeline walked in.

From that day on, we weren't her family. We were the obstacles to her "true" happiness.

Back in the room, the woman asked gently, "Where is your mom, Toby? Why isn't she with you?"

Toby looked down at the photo of Madeline and Sebastian. A single tear fell onto the plastic.

"My mommy," he said, his voice almost inaudible. "She’s dead."