Chapter 7 #3
I offered a courteous gesture, even though my chest felt tight.
Good hands or not, the idea of Dannie hooked up to some equipment and IV lines made my stomach twist. All I could do was wait, and waiting was its own kind of torture.
“Make sure you check the final bill,” Linda whispered, leaning slightly toward me as if sharing state secrets. “And bring your own things—tissues, wet wipes, face mask… anything you can think of. Otherwise, they’ll charge you for every little thing.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I meant it more than she knew.
In all my years working in the medical field, I’d never been on this side of things—worrying about every line item, every little fee.
I’d approved budgets and patient invoices countless times at my own clinic, but I’d never thought about what it felt like to be charged for something as trivial as face masks.
“You want me to introduce you to my agent?” she continued, shifting closer with a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s worth considering, especially if you’re thinking of settling down here.”
“I’m not…” I hesitated. The words caught in my throat. “Not now.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. But it wasn’t the truth, either. The thought of staying here—of not going back to the same empty apartment and cold, clinical routine—had crossed my mind more than once.
Linda nodded as if she could read my thoughts, then asked suddenly, “Was he drinking alcohol?”
I blinked, thrown by the change in topic, but nodded anyway.
“You know,” she said, dropping to a quieter tone again, “in Chinese medicine, we believe that there are certain foods and drinks you shouldn’t mix. Some combinations create bad energy inside the body—maybe that’s why he got sick.”
“Is that so?” I lifted a brow, the sarcasm slipping through despite my best effort. “There’s no scientific proof of that.”
“But it’s true,” she said firmly, as if facts were optional.
I forced a polite expression, but inside I was groaning.
She was starting to remind me far too much of my mother.
It always amazed me how universal certain archetypes were—the mother who believed in “old wisdom” over science, the one who warned you that drinking something cold would ruin your fertility or that standing too close to the TV would make your eyes fall out.
What was the point of sending both my brother and me to medical school if she still clung to pseudo-science and guilt-tripped us for “not respecting tradition”?
I could almost hear her in my head now, high and certain: You’ll understand when you’re older, June.
You can’t fool the body—it has its own memory.
Even now, I still couldn’t drink iced water in front of her without getting a lecture about “female problems” and my “future baby.”
“Maybe,” I said finally, in a way that made it clear the topic wasn’t up for debate.
Sometimes agreeing was easier than arguing.
Linda seemed satisfied enough to move on. “What’s next for him?”
“They’re going to give him fluids, antihistamines, and antibiotics for now,” I explained, shifting my weight from one foot to another. “They’ll keep him overnight for observation, just until his temperature stabilizes.”
“Gosh,” she said, frowning, “that’s pretty serious.”
“It’s not that bad, really,” I reassured her, even though I wasn’t entirely convinced myself.
“Is he awake now?”
“He was, briefly,” I said, glancing toward the room. “But he settled down again after the check-up. I think he’s still a little hungover.”
Linda checked the time on her mobile and sighed. “I see. Listen, I have to get going—got to cook lunch and pick up my kid from school.” She rummaged through her handbag and pulled out a business card, pressing it into my palm. “Call me if you need anything, okay?”
“Of course. Thank you so much for everything,” I said sincerely.
“Don’t mention it,” she replied with a dismissive wave. Her expression shifted into something sly and teasing. “For years, I’ve tried to set Mr. Wu up with some nice girls, but he was never interested. Now I know why…”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
Her face opened up, almost girlish in its delight. “I can tell that you really care about him.”
I didn’t even bother to argue. People believed what they wanted to believe, and correcting them only made them dig in deeper.
I offered a polite nod and stayed absolutely still, watching as she waved and hurried down the corridor, her heels clicking briskly against the polished tiles.
When she disappeared through the glass doors, I finally exhaled, realizing how tense my shoulders had become.
The hallway was quiet now—bright, sterile, and echoing with the distant beeps of medical monitors. I stood there for a moment, unsure whether to go back to Dannie or to grab a coffee just to steady myself.
Then I heard it.
“June. June Bennet?”
A crisp, unfamiliar woman’s voice sliced through the air behind me.
I froze, turning by degrees. No one here should’ve known my full name. No one. Yet someone spoke it.
For a heartbeat, I couldn’t tell if I was more curious or afraid.