Jason didn't answer right away. His jaw clenched, eyes flicking to the floor like the answer lay buried in the white tiles.
I repeated the question, my voice firmer now despite the tightness in my chest. "What was it?"
Jason exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. He pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat beside me, his posture tense. When he finally looked up, his eyes held something I hadn't seen before—fear, yes, but also guilt.
"Janica…" he began, his voice soft but heavy, "I need you to just breathe for a second, okay? Let me explain it all."
I froze, caught off guard by the way he spoke, the urgency in his tone. Something in me wanted to rush the words out, to demand the answers, but Jason's hand gently brushed mine, grounding me.
The simple touch sent a warmth through me, a quiet reassurance that made my heart skip. It wasn't just his hand—it was the way it felt like he was trying to steady both of us, as if his touch was the only thing keeping the world from spinning out of control. His touch was warm, steady, like he was trying to anchor us both in the storm of the moment.
And in that instant, I was reminded of something—of everything we'd shared. The times he'd held me when I needed it most, the way he'd made me feel safe even when life felt like it was falling apart. It was as if, for just a second, the world around us didn't matter—only him, only us.
I closed my eyes briefly, the warmth of his hand lingering, and the aching pull in my chest deepened. The love that had quietly woven itself between us was undeniable now. It wasn't just the way he cared for me in moments like this; it was the quiet strength he gave me without even knowing it. My body responded to his touch in a way that made it clear—I trusted him.
"Just… let me explain," he whispered, his voice calm, like he was trying to calm himself too.
I nodded, the tension inside me easing with the warmth of his touch. The room was still too still, but somehow, with Jason beside me, the fear didn't feel so heavy anymore. His presence wrapped around me like a shield, quiet and sure.
He exhaled, and his eyes finally locked onto mine. "She was looking into a man named Peterson," he said quietly. "I don't think you know him. Not yet, anyway."
I blinked. "Who is he?"
He paused before answering. "He's… a powerful man, Janica. A businessman with a lot of influence. The kind of person most people never see coming. Your mother thought he was hiding something big—something dangerous. She tried to warn people, but no one listened. Said his company was a front for something else. Something darker. She stumbled across documents—financial records, missing shipments, coded communication. And then… she got sick."
A chill ran through me, deeper than before. "Are you saying someone made her sick?"
"I'm saying," Jason said carefully, "that her death wasn't just bad luck. The more I dig, the more I find the same names cropping up around your mother's files. Names I've been trying to piece together for years. Peterson's is one of them."
I froze, my mind spiraling into a place I didn't want to go, but couldn't ignore.
For a long moment, I couldn't speak, as if the weight of his words had turned my thoughts into stone. Slowly, the idea formed, cold and dispassionate. It wasn't just the cancer. It wasn't just the inevitable decline. Something else had been at play, something far darker than I had ever imagined.
They hadn't needed to give her cancer. They just had to ensure that her treatment failed.
I felt a shiver, but it wasn't out of fear. It was the chilling realization that they had been methodical, calculating. She hadn't died of the illness. She'd been quietly pushed closer to death—by someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
Maybe it was the food she ate, the water she drank. Medicine that was tampered with. Even something as simple as her routine, interrupted. They could have made sure she never had a fighting chance.
My heart felt distant, almost numb as the thought settled in. My mother had been nothing more than collateral damage in a game I hadn't even known existed.
"They didn't have to kill her right away," I said, my voice sounding like it came from someone else—cold, clear, devoid of the emotion that would've once consumed me. "They just needed to make sure she couldn't survive it."
Jason didn't say anything at first, but I could feel his eyes on me, his understanding shifting. He'd never seen me like this—detached, maybe even calculating in the way I processed the truth.
The silence between us felt heavy, but I didn't break it. I was done with confusion. Done with emotional overload.
This wasn't just about my mother anymore.
It was about something much bigger.
I stared at him, my thoughts spiraling. "But why target me?"
Jason hesitated, his gaze softening as if the weight of his words were too much to carry. He looked down for a moment, as if searching for the right way to say it. Then, his voice came out quieter, tinged with sorrow.
"Because you're her daughter," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "And because someone out there believes she told you something. Or left something with you."
His eyes locked with mine, and for a moment, I saw the sorrow in them. Like he hated that he had to say these things to me. But he couldn't shield me from the truth, not anymore.
I tried to breathe, but my chest felt tight again.
"And you?" I asked. "Why are you involved in all this?"
Jason leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Because I was part of it once. Not the bad stuff, but I was tied to Peterson's world more than I knew. I grew up in the same children's home he donated to, worked in his company briefly during my internship. I didn't see it then, but your mom… she tried to warn me too. She was kind to me, Janica. I owe her."
Silence hung between us. Heavy. Unspoken.
Then I asked the question that had been haunting me for a long time.
"Jason… did you know her before I told you about her?"
He hesitated, and I could see the brief flicker of guilt in his eyes.
"Yes." he answered his eyes fixed on me.
My breath caught.
"I didn't know you were her daughter," he added quickly, his voice softening, as if trying to shield me from the hurt. "Not at first. But the way you smiled… it hit me one day. She used to smile like that too."
I looked away, heart pounding. The room felt too small, the air too thick. I wanted to cry, scream, demand the truth—but the truth was already unraveling around me.
I wasn't just some random girl on a bus. I was part of something much darker.
He stood and moved toward the window, his silhouette outlined against the dimming city lights. There was something about his stillness, the way he stared out at the darkening skyline, that made me feel even more uncertain.
"I'm not letting them get to you," he said, his voice low, but there was a fierce determination behind it. "Whatever your mother started, I'll finish it. But I need your help."
I turned toward him, the weight of his words pressing down on me. My voice wavered, barely a whisper, as if I were afraid of hearing my own question.
"Where do we start?"
He didn't turn to face me immediately. His gaze lingered on the city below, as if the answer was written somewhere in the distance. When he finally looked back at me, his eyes were full of resolve, but also something else—something I couldn't quite place.
"With the one thing your mother left behind that no one else could find."
A chill crept up my spine, and my heart skipped a beat. I frowned,
confusion flooding in. "What?"
Jason stepped closer, eyes burning with certainty.
"Her journal."