The next day…
Lola listened to the mechanical heartbeat echoing softly in the sterile hospital room as she stood beside Lawrence's bed. She didn't intend to visit, but when she heard he had fallen into another coma, something in her compelled her to come. Not that she cared much.
Studying his hollow, motionless face, she pressed her lips into a thin line and quietly fixed his blanket.
"I hated you," she whispered. "And until now, that feeling… is still in my heart."
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she exhaled. "But honestly, I don't even know anymore."
"I'm angry because of your foolishness—because it caused so much pain to everyone," she continued softly, withdrawing her hand from the blanket. "But at the end of the day, you're just a victim too. A victim of others… and of your own foolishness."
Lola straightened her back, her tone firm but calm. "I'm done wondering. I won't ask you to be a father to me anymore, nor will I crave a father's affection."
