Chapter 72: Reckoning in the Hallway.
Angela stood in the hospital hallway, her hands shaking, her chest so tight she could barely breathe. The doctor’s words, ’time of death,’ kept hammering in her head, each one like a punch to the gut. Carla was gone. Her sister, the one person who’d always been there, was gone. She pressed a trembling hand against the wall, trying to keep herself upright as tears burned her eyes.
Across the hall, Jonathan Rivers stood like a statue, his white dress shirt still crisp, his face blank. No grief, no shock, just that cold, empty stare that made Angela’s blood boil. He’d always been like this, distant, absent, leaving Carla to fight her battles alone. And now, with Carla dead, he didn’t even have the decency to look like he cared.
Angela’s grief twisted into rage. She stormed toward him, her boots slapping the linoleum, and grabbed his collar before he could react, slamming him against the wall. His eyes widened, but he didn’t fight back.
"You," she hissed, her voice shaking. "You did this, Jonathan. You let her waste away. She’s dead and it’s on you!"
Jonathan’s jaw tightened, but his voice stayed calm, infuriatingly controlled. "Angela, you’re upset. I understand. But this isn’t the time."
"Upset?" She laughed, sharp and bitter, her nails digging into his shirt. "My sister’s dead, and you’re standing here talking about upset? You never cared about her, did you? Not her, not Bella, not your own family!"
"Lower your voice," he said, his tone clipped. "You’re making a scene."
"A scene?" Angela shoved him harder, her hands trembling with fury. "You think I care about a scene? Carla was screaming Bella’s name before she died, and you’re acting like it’s just another day. What kind of man are you?"
A nurse approached, her voice hesitant. "Ma’am, please, you need to calm down."
"Stay out of this," Angela snapped, her eyes locked on Jonathan. The nurse backed off, glancing nervously at the other staff hovering nearby.
Jonathan’s gaze flicked to the closed door of Carla’s room, then back to Angela. "She was sick," he said, his voice flat. "The doctors did everything they could. You know that."
"Sick?" Angela’s voice broke, tears spilling down her cheeks. "She wasn’t just sick, Jonathan. Something was eating her alive, and you knew it. I saw her, fighting something we couldn’t see. And you—" She shoved him again, her voice dropping to a growl. "You stood by and did nothing."
Jonathan’s calm faltered for a split second, his eyes narrowing. "You’re looking for someone to blame. I get it. But you’re wrong."
"Am I?" Angela leaned closer, her face inches from his. "I told you, Jonathan. I told you I’d drag you to court if she died. Negligence. Abandonment. Murder. I meant every word. I’ll find the evidence, and I’ll make you pay for what you did to her."
His hands twitched at his sides, but he didn’t move. "You don’t have any evidence," he said quietly. "You’re grieving, Angela. You’re not thinking straight."
"Don’t patronize me," she spat. "I’ve watched you for years. You ignored her, left her to rot while she suffered. You were never there, not for her, not for Bella. And now she’s dead, and you don’t even care!"
Jonathan’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t answer. His silence was like gasoline on Angela’s rage. She could see it in his eyes, something he wasn’t saying, something he was holding back. She’d always known he was distant, but now, with Carla gone, that distance felt like a wall hiding something deeper.
"You’re hiding something," she said, her voice low, dangerous. "I can see it. You know more than you’re letting on."
Jonathan’s eyes darkened, but he kept his voice even. "You’re upset. Go home, Angela. Get some rest."
"Rest?" She laughed again, the sound raw and jagged. "My sister’s dead, and you think I’m going to rest? I’m going to tear your life apart, Jonathan. Every lie, every time you turned your back on her, I’ll find it. I’ll make sure the world knows what you are."
He took a step back, his face still unreadable, but his hands clenched briefly. "Be careful what you dig into," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Some things are better left alone."
Angela’s heart skipped. "What’s that supposed to mean?"
He didn’t answer, just stared at her, his eyes cold and guarded. That was when she noticed it, a small leather pouch sticking out of his jacket pocket, half-hidden by the fold. It wasn’t there before, she was sure of it. The sight of it sent a chill down her spine, though she couldn’t say why.
"What’s that?" she demanded, pointing at the pouch.
Jonathan’s hand moved to cover it, too quickly. "Nothing you need to worry about."
Her eyes narrowed. "Don’t lie to me. What is it?"
"It’s personal," he said, his voice sharp now. "Drop it, Angela."
She stepped closer, her heart pounding. "Personal? My sister’s dead, and you’re carrying around secrets in your pocket? Show me."
Jonathan’s jaw worked, but he didn’t move.
Angela’s mind raced. She thought of Carla’s last moments, her desperate whisper of Bella’s name, the way her body had jerked like something was tearing her apart. She thought of Jonathan’s absence through it all, never caring. And now, this pouch, this secret he was guarding so fiercely.
"You knew something was wrong with her," she said, her voice shaking with realization. "You knew, and you let it happen. What’s in that pouch, Jonathan? What are you hiding?"
He took another step back, his hand closing over the pouch. "You’re crossing a line."
"I’m way past lines," she said, her voice rising. "You’re going to tell me what you know, or I swear, I’ll rip that pocket open myself."
Before Jonathan could respond, a nurse emerged from Carla’s room, holding a clipboard. Her face was pale, her eyes darting between Angela and Jonathan. "Ms. Angela?" she said, her voice hesitant. "We found something in your sister’s belongings. You might want to see this."
Angela’s heart stopped. She turned, her anger momentarily sidelined. "What is it?"
The nurse glanced at Jonathan, then back at Angela. "It’s a letter. It was tucked inside her pillowcase. It’s addressed to you."
Angela’s breath caught. She shoved past Jonathan, following the nurse back into the room. The bed was empty now, the sheets stripped, but the air still felt heavy, like Carla’s presence hadn’t fully left. The nurse handed her a folded piece of paper, the edges worn, Carla’s handwriting visible on the white, stained paper.
Angela’s hands shook as she opened it. The words were hurried, scrawled in a shaky hand:
Angela, if you’re reading this, I’m gone. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you everything. I tried to protect her. Jonathan isn’t who you think. He knew about my condition, about what was killing me. He chose to stay silent. Don’t let him near Bella. When she’s back, keep her safe with you. I love you.
Angela’s vision blurred with tears. She read the words again, her chest tightening with every line. Jonathan knew. He knew something about Carla’s illness, and he’d done nothing. Her hands clenched around the letter, crumpling the edges.
She turned, storming back into the hallway where Jonathan still stood, his face pale now, his eyes fixed on the letter in her hand.
"What is this?" she demanded, holding it up. "She says you knew about her condition. You knew, and you let her die!"
Jonathan’s face didn’t change, but his hands twitched again, like he was fighting to stay calm. "You don’t know what you’re saying," he said quietly. "Put that down."
"No," Angela said, her voice shaking with fury. "You don’t get to tell me what to do. Carla says you knew what was killing her. What was it, Jonathan? What did you do?"
"I didn’t do anything," he said, his voice low, almost pleading. "I couldn’t stop it."
"Couldn’t, or wouldn’t?" Angela stepped closer, her voice a growl. "You let her suffer. You let her die. And now you’re going to stand there and lie to my face?"
Jonathan’s eyes flicked to the letter again, then back to her. "You’re making a mistake, Angela. You don’t know what you’re getting into."
"I know enough," she said, clutching the letter tighter. "I’m taking this to a lawyer. I’m going to find out everything, every call you didn’t make, every doctor you didn’t push, every time you turned your back on her. You’re done, Jonathan."
He took a step toward her, his voice dropping. "You don’t want to do this. You don’t know what it’ll cost."
Angela didn’t flinch. "I don’t care what it costs. You took my sister from me. From Bella. I’m going to make you pay."
She turned, the letter still in her hand, and walked down the hallway, her boots echoing in the silence. Her heart pounded, grief and rage twisting together, but one thing was clear: Jonathan was hiding something, and she wouldn’t stop until she uncovered it.
Behind her, Jonathan stood motionless, his hand still on the pouch in his pocket, his eyes dark with something that wasn’t grief.