Too Late for Us

When I finally reached the hospital, I saw my mother lying on a stretcher bed in the hallway, crying silently.

I ran over and saw my father's head—there was a large gaping wound. It had been hastily bandaged, but it was still bleeding.

"Where's the doctor? Where are the doctors? The wound is still bleeding—why isn't anyone treating him?"

My mother hesitated for a long time before finally speaking. "There's only one emergency doctor on duty. And there was only one temporary room left. Grayson told him... told him to save someone else first."

Blood rushed to my ears. I stood up, and just then, the door to the room behind me opened.

Hazel was clinging to Grayson, her eyes red, her voice soft and fragile. "Thank you, Grayson. I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't dropped Mia's parents to come help me."

Grayson patted her back gently and spoke softly. "Your parents are my parents. Don't say things like that. Stop crying. Your eyes are all swollen."

I couldn't hold back anymore. I charged forward and slapped Grayson as hard as I could.

My body was shaking uncontrollably. "Grayson, you said you'd take good care of my parents. This is how you take care of them?"

The person who got hit didn't react much. But Hazel let out a shriek and immediately started checking him for injury.

She looked at me, her eyes brimming with tears. "Mia, it was my mom who twisted her ankle. Grayson was worried it might leave lasting damage, so he had the doctor treat her first. If you want to hit someone, hit me. Don't blame Grayson. He was so worried about my mom that he didn't notice the car caught on your dad's clothes. That's how your dad got dragged and injured."

Grayson stepped forward, shielding Hazel behind him. He looked at me, his eyes a little cold.

"Mia, you're upset. I'll let that slap go. But when something happens, you need to be reasonable. Don't throw a tantrum like some backwater town shrew. The doctor looked at your dad's wound and said it was just a flesh wound. That's why I left him out here. But Hazel's mom's ankle can't wait. If it damaged the bone, that's a lifelong problem."

Behind me, I heard my father's weak voice. He called out to me. "Sweetheart... Dad... Dad's fine. Don't pick a fight with Grayson over me. We're country folk. Tough bodies. Not like other people who need such delicate care."

Grayson looked at me and softened his tone. He stepped closer and tried to pull me into a hug.

"See? Even your dad said it. It's probably nothing serious. Stop being upset. Once morning comes, I'll find your dad a new room right away."

I stepped back and avoided his touch.

Grayson's expression darkened. I ignored him. I just made some calls and arranged to transfer my father to another hospital.

I stayed with my parents through the night. The next morning, I went home to pack some things.

I opened the door. The living room was full of laughter and chatter. A sour, fermented smell hung in the air.

And the man who just yesterday claimed he had sinus problems and couldn't stand strong smells was happily eating a bite of pickled vegetables brought by Hazel's parents, smiling with delight.

Next to the trash can in the living room sat two familiar bags. They were the bags my parents had been carrying when they arrived.

I looked at Grayson and asked him, "What is this supposed to mean?"