I didn't remember leaving the hospital or how I ended up at Dad's workplace...
My mind was a blur, my feet moving on their own, as if someone else was dragging me forward.
I walked right past the guard at the gate without returning his greeting.
He knew me well enough, but one look at my face must have told him something was seriously wrong.
He didn't say a word.
The world around me felt muffled, far away like I was underwater, every sound dull and every step heavy.
The shock from the hospital still clung to me, thick and suffocating, turning everything into a hazy dream I couldn't wake from.
My body was exhausted, drained from running and from the weight crushing my chest, but I kept going on autopilot.
I barely noticed the guard's concerned glance; it slid past me without touching anything inside.
All I felt was a faint, dull ache of anxiety flickering somewhere deep, mixed with a strange emptiness like my emotions had shut down to keep me from falling apart completely.
I was running on fumes, too numb to feel much of anything sharply anymore.
Dad's office was on the third floor of the city government building.
He had climbed to personal secretary of the top leader now.
In those circles, that position meant real power, even if he never flaunted it. He was careful, clean, impossible to touch.
People envied him, but no one could find a crack to slip through.
As I climbed the last few steps to the third-floor hallway, a weak, flickering hope stirred deep inside me.
Dad was strong, untouchable, the one person who could make sense of this mess, who could shield me from the nightmare I'd just lived through.
He had always been the steady one, the man others respected and even feared a little.
For a brief moment, that thought warmed me, pushing back the cold emptiness that had settled in my chest since the hospital.
But the warmth vanished almost as quickly as it came, crushed beneath the weight of what I'd seen at the hospital.
The memory of Mom in Uncle Jun's arms flashed again, sharp, vivid, impossible to push away, and the fragile hope I'd clung to crumbled completely.
…
As I arrived at Dad's office, the door was slightly ajar.
I stopped right in front of it, close enough to push it open with one finger, and peered through the narrow gap.
My hand hovered there, trembling just a little, ready to knock or barge in, anything to end the nightmare swirling in my head.
But the moment I looked inside, everything stopped.
Dad sat on the sofa inside, speaking quietly to someone across from him.
It was my Aunt Sophie.
The sight froze me on the spot, my hand hovering inches from the door handle.
Every desperate word I'd rehearsed on the run, the plea for him to make it all okay, crashed to a halt inside me.
My throat tightened; the confession I'd carried like fire suddenly turned to ash.
I couldn't interrupt, not in front of someone else, even if it was Mom's sister.
Not now.
Not when they looked so serious, so absorbed in whatever they were talking about.
Silently…
I backed away from the door, turned, and climbed the short flight of stairs to the fourth floor.
Right outside the stairwell door, there was a small maintenance ledge, a narrow concrete platform about the width of a school desk, built against the outer wall of the building for workers to access windows or pipes.
It was tucked in a corner where the roofline created a natural shadow, completely hidden from anyone looking up from the ground or from inside the offices below.
From the third-floor office window, you would have to crane your neck upward at a sharp angle and know exactly where to look to even notice it.
I sat down immediately on the rough concrete, back pressed against the cool wall, knees pulled tight to my chest, arms wrapped around them, staring at nothing.
The ledge was high enough and angled just right that, by leaning forward a little, I could see straight down through Dad's office window on the floor below, like looking into an open box from above.
No one inside would spot me unless they stood up and deliberately searched the shadowed corner overhead.
The energy that had carried me here was gone, completely spent.
All that was left was a deep, overwhelmed isolation, like I was shrinking smaller and smaller, hiding from a world that no longer made sense.
A fragile withdrawal settled over me.
I wanted to disappear, to curl into this hidden corner and pretend none of today had happened.
Yet a numb curiosity kept me there, unable to fully leave.
My eyes drifted back toward the window below, drawn despite the pain that twisted in my chest.
The voices drifted up faintly, muffled by distance and glass, but clear enough if I strained to listen.
I shouldn't stay.
I knew I shouldn't.
But my body wouldn't move, trapped in vulnerable loneliness, small and hidden on this narrow ledge, bracing for whatever came next.
"Brother-in-law," Aunt said, her tone edged with frustration, "are you telling me there's really nothing you can do?"
The question hung in the air like a challenge.
I leaned closer to the glass, my breath shallow, almost afraid to make a sound.
Whatever she was asking for, it mattered to her a lot.
And the way Dad shifted on the sofa, the careful pause before he answered… I could feel the weight of it even from up here.
Something told me this conversation wasn't going to be simple.
And after what I'd just seen at the hospital, I wasn't sure how many more secrets I could take today.
My chest already felt tight, a quiet dread settling in like a cold fog.
I was tired, so tired, but I couldn't pull myself away.
I had to know…
"Brother-in-law, don't be so harsh. Everyone knows the power you have. You just need to talk privately, and it's all done."
Aunt's voice turned a little flirtatious, low and teasing in a way that made my skin crawl.
An unpleasant feeling twisted sharply in my stomach as I listened.
It wasn't the words. It was the tone, too intimate, too familiar for family.
That same soft, playful tone she always used when she teased me at family gatherings, calling me her "little Lian" or sneaking me extra dessert, now aimed at Dad like this.
Then I saw her move from across the table to sit right next to Dad, leaning against him, her hand resting on his thigh with slow, deliberate confidence.
My breath caught in my throat.
Dad leaned back, a small, satisfied curve to his lips, looking like he was enjoying it, and slowly said something.
"We have to consider the impact. In the city government's business, our Party can't interfere…"
The words sounded distant, meaningless, like they belonged to a different world.
Aunt smiled, a soft, knowing smile that made my stomach turn colder.
She stood up gracefully, walked to the office door, glanced around the empty hallway, locked it with a soft click, and sat back down beside him, closer this time, her body pressed lightly against his.
The click of the lock echoed in my ears, sharp and final, like a door closing on everything I thought I knew.
My heart sank deeper, a heavy ache spreading through my chest, cold and slow.
I knew, even before it happened, what was coming next.
The way she locked the door, the way Dad didn't pull back, it all pointed to the same thing I'd seen at the hospital with Mom and Uncle Jun.
A sick, helpless dread filled me, like I was watching a slow accident I couldn't stop, the same kind of intimate betrayal playing out again, only this time with Dad.
My stomach churned, cold and heavy.
I shouldn't be here.
I shouldn't see this.
But I couldn't look away, couldn't move, trapped by the terrible certainty that the last good thing in my life was about to break.
Dad seemed very satisfied with her touch. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring it, his breathing deepening just a little.
"But…"
Aunt Sophie leaned in before he could finish, her mouth pressing against his, her lips tracing his slowly, teasingly.
My heart sank even further, a growing horror mixing with an aching betrayal that tightened my throat until it hurt.
Dad, the last person I thought I could trust, the one I'd run to for safety, was letting this happen.
He wasn't pushing her away.
He didn't move away.
He didn't say anything to stop her.
He just let it happen.
The hope I'd carried here, the last small light I'd clung to, telling myself they were just sitting close, that nothing more could happen, crumbled quietly inside me, turning into a deep, quiet grief that made my eyes sting with hot tears.
I sat frozen on the ledge, breath catching in shallow, painful gasps, the world below feeling farther and farther away, like everything safe was slipping through my fingers.
Silent devastation built inside me, heavy and unbearable, as I watched the one person I needed most, would do something I never thought he would.
There was no one left.
No safe place.
Just me, small and hidden, with a heart that felt too broken to keep beating.