Chapter 4

In all my memory, my father had never once refused Ivy.

He had certainly never turned a cold face on her.

In the Edwards house, Ivy was the lucky little charm cupped in everyone's palm.

But now the charm had been thrown into the mud.

Ivy's gaze faltered, and she nodded, a single tear falling from her reddened eyes.

She leaned against the corridor wall, head down, picking at the hem of her clothes over and over with her nails.

I stood by the window on the other side of the ward and watched all of it.

My phone buzzed. A message from my brother's department head.

【Roger Edwards's surgery schedule at State General has been canceled, and the department is arranging a replacement. Tell him to rest and heal, and not to worry about anything else.】

I stared at the message for a few seconds, then screenshotted it and sent it to my mother and father, separately.

In my last life, Roger's hands were perfectly whole, and he'd climbed from resident to attending, becoming State General's youngest surgical specialist before he even turned thirty.

He made the local news, hailed as the 'genius surgical prodigy.'

My father had that clipping framed and hung it dead center on the living room wall.

Every time I came home, I looked up and saw it.

Roger really did save a lot of people. He also really did watch me die on the operating table without lifting a finger.

When my parents saw the message I'd sent, the knuckles gripping their phones went a terrible white,

and unable to bear it any longer, both of them walked out of the ward wiping their eyes.

Half an hour later, Roger finally went quiet.

A nurse came to tell us the attending was starting rounds.

The moment my brother saw the intern trailing behind the doctor, his whole body seemed to freeze into ice.

John Whitney had been my brother's sworn rival in college.

He'd lost to Roger by several points in every skills competition.

Before all this, my brother wouldn't have spared him a glance.

But now John stood there in a white coat, upright like any normal man,

while my brother lay in bed, needing help with even the most basic things.

John's step slowed, and he let out a soft laugh.

His eyes settled on those two empty, hanging sleeves, and the gloating in them was impossible to hide.

"Long time no see, Roger."

My brother instinctively tried to hide his hands under the blanket.

But he'd forgotten he didn't have hands anymore. He couldn't even make the motion of hiding them.

John gave a sigh of fake regret.

"Such a shame. You were the genius of our department, hands steady as a machine. Who'd have thought you'd have trouble even feeding yourself now. Don't lose heart, though. Learn to live using your feet instead of your hands, and you might still make something of the second half of your life."

My brother's throat bobbed once.

He wanted to clench a fist, but below his shoulders there was nothing.

His fingers had once been so steady. Suturing, knotting, dissecting, every cut like it had been measured with a ruler.

Now even a clenched fist was a luxury.

"Shut your mouth!"

Ivy rushed out from the corner and planted herself in front of the bed.

"You're nothing but a man my brother beat every time. What right do you have to stand here running your mouth?"

Her voice shook with anger, like she was about to lunge and hit him.

My brother quickly slid a foot out from under the blanket, caught the hem of her clothes between his toes, and tugged it down.

Ivy looked down at it.

Just one glance, and her brows drew together, her lips pressing thin,

and her whole body instinctively shifted half a step away.

The flinch of disgust was over in an instant, but my brother caught it.

Like he'd been struck by lightning, his face went impossibly white,

and his blank gaze moved from Ivy's face to his own foot.

Then he slowly tucked the foot back under the blanket and forced his back straight.

"Everyone out."

"Roger, you haven't washed your face yet," Ivy stammered.

"Out!"

Like a string pulled too tight had suddenly snapped.

Roger kicked hard and flung the blanket back.

It slid off the foot of the bed, exposing those two empty sleeves.

They lay flat and slack at his sides, cuffs swaying faintly in the air.

Ivy took a step back and opened her mouth, wanting to say something more.

But my brother had already closed his eyes.

His chest heaved violently, his jaw clenched tight.

From his cheekbones to his ears his whole face was a bloodless gray-white.

Footsteps shuffled off toward the door one by one.

Ivy was still standing there.

"You go too."

My brother didn't open his eyes. His shoulders were trembling.

The empty right sleeve trembled with them, tapping against the edge of the bed again and again in the draft.

He leaned back against the pillow with his eyes shut, a film of cold sweat on his forehead.

My mother hurried to wipe it with a towel, her hands shaking the whole time, never once looking at Ivy.

"Stay away from the hospital these next few days."

Ivy's step froze. Then she covered her mouth and ran out.

I went after her and handed her a tissue.

She was crying so hard she could barely catch her breath.

"Even Mom said that. She used to love me most of all…"

I looked at her.

Of course I knew my mother had loved her most.

I also knew my mother loved her because Roger loved her.

And I knew something more.

The Edwards family's way of closing ranks and shutting a person out cut deeper than anything.

But all of this was only just beginning.