One Last Call Before Goodbye Chapter 16
The first few days in the hospital passed as if someone had pressed the slow-motion button on life.
Marshall left early and returned late every day.
One night, Darlene woke up and saw him asleep at the desk, his face resting on his arms, the screen still glowing, his fingers still on the keyboard. She quietly got out of bed and draped her jacket over his shoulders.
He slept deeply, dark circles under his eyes, even his breathing heavy with exhaustion.
She crouched down and watched him for a long time.
On Tabitha’s side, it seemed that some of her orders had been withdrawn.
The lines between Marshall’s brows had also softened a little.
One day, he was uncharacteristically cheerful and said that two suppliers, who had always refused to negotiate, had reached out to him on their own.
“Maybe my mom has finally come around.”
Darlene smiled but said nothing.
She knew it wasn’t that Tabitha had come around.
It was after that phone call—she had done nothing, said nothing, and Tabitha had decided there was no need to push for now.
Or perhaps, she was waiting for a better opportunity.
The weather outside grew hotter with each passing day.
The old locust tree outside the window began to buzz with cicadas, their noise relentless and irritating.
That afternoon, Marshall received a call about an urgent matter at work. Before leaving, he placed the water cup, tissues, and call bell within Darlene’s reach, reminding her several times, “If you need anything, just press the bell.”
Darlene smiled and said, “I’m not a child, you can go.”
After he left, the hospital room became quiet.
Darlene leaned against the headboard and opened a design magazine. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting stripes of light and shadow across the pages.
There were two knocks at the door.
She thought Marshall had forgotten something, so she put down the magazine and hurried to open the door.
“Mardy…”
The door opened, and her words caught in her throat.
“Mrs. Hendrix, what brings you here?”
Tabitha stood at the door, wearing a dark gray silk dress, a black bag on her arm, her hair perfectly styled. Her gaze swept over Darlene’s face.
“If I hadn’t come, what would you have turned my son into? Darlene, I really underestimated you. Not just you, but your whole family.”
Darlene’s fingers paused, and she stepped aside to let her in.
Tabitha walked in unhurriedly, her eyes taking in everything—the medicine bottles on the nightstand, the design drafts on the table, the neatly folded blanket on the companion chair. Finally, she sat down on a stool and picked up the stack of design drafts, flipping through them.
“Are these your designs?”
Darlene stood in front of her, back straight. “Yes.”
“Hmm, not bad,” Tabitha said, her tone unreadable. “You want to start your own business?”
Darlene’s expression froze. “I have that idea.”
Tabitha tossed the designs back onto the table, looked up at her, her gaze sharp. “With just these, how much chance of success do you think you have?”
Darlene clenched her hands at her sides, her nails digging into her palms.
She remembered the version of herself in her dream—enduring everything, giving up everything, and in the end, left with nothing.
She lifted her head and met Tabitha’s eyes.
Her voice was quiet, but every word was steady: “No matter how much chance I have, I will give it everything I’ve got.”
Tabitha’s eyes flickered with surprise.
She looked at Darlene again, as if truly seeing for the first time what lay in this girl’s eyes.
Tabitha stood up, picked up her bag, and paused at the door without looking back.
“I don’t care whether you can or not. At least for now, you are nothing but a burden to my son. As for the rest—think it over yourself.”
The door closed.
Darlene stood in the middle of the hospital room, listening to the sound of high heels fading down the corridor, feeling as if all the strength had been drained from her.
She slowly crouched down, hugged her knees, and buried her face in them.
She did not cry; she just felt very tired.