Chapter 167: Not A Bigger Person
It’s been two weeks since the bloody day. Daisy stood outside the ICU room, her hands pressed lightly against the cold glass. Her eyes lingered on the still figure lying on the bed, wires and machines surrounding him. The window between them felt thicker than it was, as if it were more than glass that kept her from reaching him.
Her breath fogged the pane as she whispered his name, voice breaking. "Theo..."
Inside, his chest rose and fell with the rhythm of the ventilator, each sound a reminder that his life was being borrowed, held together by machines.
Every day she came, and every day the same question gnawed at her, ’Would he ever open his eyes again? Would he still be the same Theo if he did?’
She had heard the news of Owen’s man surrendering himself at the nearest police station, confessing everything. Yet it brought her no peace. It only proved one thing... her nightmare would never truly end, not as long as her grandfather was still alive, pulling strings from the shadows.
Thankfully, among all the bad news, her father, Thomas, had recovered well. He even managed to give her a feeble smile when she came earlier. That smile should have eased her, but instead it made the ache in her chest sharper. Because while her father was mending, the man she loved most lay trapped in a silence she couldn’t break.
Daisy finally tore her gaze away from the glass. Her legs felt heavier than stone as she turned to leave, her heart dragging behind in that room with him.
"Daisy."
She stopped. The voice was soft, uncertain. Jasmine stood a few feet away, her hands clasped tightly together as though she was holding herself from shaking apart.
"You... have you eaten yet?" Jasmine’s tone was careful, tentative, as if one wrong word might shatter what fragile ground they stood on.
Daisy blinked at her, startled by the ordinary question in such an unordinary moment. "I... did," she admitted, her voice hoarse.
Jasmine’s lips pressed together. She took a hesitant step closer, then another, before stopping again, like she wasn’t sure she had the right. "Do you need anything? I can help..."
Daisy looked at her empty, "Mom..." She then paused, her eyes lingered longer on her face, maybe calculating the best words on her mind, "I didn’t remember we are this close to even helping each other... I understand that you must be trying to redeem everything that you had done in the past, but mom... since every little event, every harsh word, was still deep in my mind, it would be hard for me to just act like nothing ever happened." She pressed her lips for a few seconds, "I’m sorry... and if you could... it would be better for you to just ... keep your distance for now."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Jasmine froze, her hands still knotted together, her eyes glistening though not a single tear fell. Daisy’s voice had not been raised, but it cut deeper than a scream ever could.
"I..." Jasmine swallowed, but her throat seemed to close on the words. For years, she had pictured this moment, when she might try to mend things, when she might be forgiven. But standing here, in front of her daughter’s hollow gaze, she realised how naive that hope had been.
Daisy turned her head back toward the glass, to the still figure lying inside, dismissing her mother with the smallest of gestures. Her choice was clear.
Jasmine’s shoulders sagged. She took a small step back, as if she gave Daisy a space to breathe, though the distance between them felt like a canyon that could never be crossed. Her lips parted as if to speak again, but she ended up not saying anything.
"Hey..." Aurora appeared, her footsteps gentle against the sterile floor as she reached for Daisy’s hand. She gave Jasmine a polite bow of her head before leaning closer to Daisy, her voice low. "Let’s talk..."
"Hmm..." Daisy only hummed in reply, not meeting her eyes. She turned and walked away, leaving the cold hallway and the heavy silence behind.
Aurora slipped her arm through Daisy’s, guiding her. "Your mom..." she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at where Jasmine still stood, frozen in the distance. "She’s been sleeping here in the hospital for days. She hasn’t left once."
Daisy’s eyes lifted slowly to Aurora, blank and unamused. "And...?"
Aurora hesitated, tightening her hold on Daisy’s arm. "I’m just saying, Daisy. I know you’re hurt, I know you’re in pain. But she... she has nowhere else to go. No home to return to."
Daisy’s steps halted. She turned to Aurora, her glare sharp enough to cut. "If you pity her so much, then take her into your home. Because... me?" Her voice cracked, but her anger burned through it. "I don’t have any sympathy left. My heart..." she pressed a hand against her chest, trembling "was shattered to the core."
Her arm lifted, finger trembling as she pointed toward Jasmine in the distance. "And she... she’s the reason every trace of my happiness vanished. She!"
Jasmine’s lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line as her eyes dropped to the floor. The weight of Daisy’s words pressed on her chest like a stone. She knew it. Every accusation, every wound, was deserved. How could she still shamelessly stand there, in front of the daughter whose life had been shaped by her absence and cruelty?
Her hands curled at her sides, trembling, but she didn’t defend herself. She didn’t dare.
Aurora reached out, her voice low, pleading. "Daisy, I didn’t mean—"
"Stop." Daisy’s voice cut like glass, sharp and cold. She turned on Aurora, eyes blazing. "Don’t ever ask me to understand her. Don’t ever tell me to forgive. You’re not in my position... you don’t know what it’s like to be me. So don’t you dare stand there and ask me to be the bigger person."
The silence that followed was heavier than the air in that sterile hallway.
Daisy once again turned to Jasmine, her gaze icy and unflinching. "At this moment, do you know what I want to hear the most?" Her voice quivered, but her eyes never wavered. She paused, lips trembling as the words clawed their way out.
"I wish there was a plot twist in my life... I wish you would say that I’m not your biological daughter."