Walking over to the glass curtain wall, Sophie could now be absolutely certain: the man lying in the hospital bed was indeed Ned.
The ICU was filled with all kinds of life-support medical equipment. Whenever a person lay surrounded by such an array of machines, they always appeared especially fragile.
Four years ago, she had stood in a similar spot, her heart aching as she waited for him to wake up.
But in the end, she hadn't waited for him to regain consciousness before boarding the plane to America.
Four years had passed, yet that heartache had not lessened—instead, it had been joined by a deep bitterness.
Why had he come to America?
Why had he been driving on the highway at the border between the two states?
The man in the ICU lay with his eyes closed, still unconscious, his sleeping face peaceful, yet his body was covered in tubes and wires.
Sophie knew the answers to these mysteries would have to wait until he woke up…
For now, all she could do was wait.
Ned did not remain unconscious for long. On the third day after surgery, he woke up.
After the doctor came to check on him, it was confirmed that Ned was indeed awake and had not slipped back into a coma. However, when he looked at Sophie after regaining consciousness, his gaze was strangely unfamiliar.
Throughout the process of Ned being transferred from the ICU to a regular ward, Sophie stayed by his side.
Until he was lying in the bed in the general ward, looking at her, he still had not spoken a single word.
Sophie tried to speak to him: "You… how did you end up here?" Four years without seeing each other, and her first words came out stiff and awkward in both tone and delivery.
Ned looked at her without any expression, still silent.
"You crashed into my car—do you remember that?" she asked.
He slowly narrowed his eyes, staring at her in confusion, as if both she and her words were completely unfamiliar.
"Why aren't you saying anything? Does your wound hurt? Or do you want some water?" She had no choice but to ask like this.
Ned still didn't reply, just kept staring at her intently.
Sophie felt uneasy under his gaze, so she turned to pick up the water cup and cotton swab from the bedside table, intending to moisten his dry lips.
"Do I know you?" Ned suddenly spoke, asking her: "Do I know you, miss?"
Her hand froze mid-air, abruptly halting what she was doing.
She widened her eyes, replaying his words in her mind. At first she thought she'd misheard. "What's wrong with you? Don't you recognize me?"
Could forgetting happen this quickly?
Just four years, and he could erase her completely?
Yet Ned's expression was troubled; his handsome features carried a trace of weariness, as if something deeply distressing had suddenly left him bewildered.
"You… who are you?" he asked back in confusion. "I don't know who you are… but my memory tells me we know each other…"
Seeing his expression and hearing his words, Sophie's mind went completely blank. Then a terrifying possibility dawned on her—
"Who exactly are you?" Ned narrowed his eyes again, his gaze filled with utter bewilderment as he stared at her.
Sophie stared back at him in a daze, feeling a chill spread from her fingertips…
"Why am I here?" he asked. "I… who am I?"
His questions confirmed the terrifying possibility had come true—
Sophie could barely breathe…
She looked at him, heartbroken, watching his confused state…
The funeral arrangements for her mother still required some time to prepare. Although Sophie had made up her mind to leave New York, she had to wait until every last detail was taken care of. During this period, in addition to handling the funeral and all the preparations for moving abroad, she took a part-time job at a restaurant, working from 4:00 p.m. to midnight.
Yes, she deliberately chose such a long and grueling shift because she knew that going to the United States would require a lot of money—for tuition, rent, and monthly living expenses.
The restaurant was extremely busy, and the staff were constantly on the move. From 4:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m., Sophie's main responsibilities were greeting customers, taking orders, serving food, and promptly attending to every request from the diners. In other words, she was a full-on waitress during those hours. She had to walk countless steps, stand the entire time without any chance to sit down and rest.
After 9:00 p.m., as the number of customers gradually dwindled, she would head to the back kitchen to wash dishes. Mountains of plates and bowls had to go through several steps: pre-rinsing to remove scraps, scrubbing with specialized detergent, soaking in disinfectant, drying, and finally storing them properly. She worked together with two other dishwashers, dividing the tasks so they could finish everything within those three hours.
She lived each day in a whirlwind of busyness. Though exhausted, Sophie never felt it was unbearable. No matter what, she refused to let fate break her.
She still vividly remembered the day her mother jumped. In desperation, she had begged the furious Victoria, "If possible, could you please treat her like your own daughter?" In response, she received a sharp, vicious slap across the face. Her cheek swelled dramatically, and Victoria's long fingernails left several bloody scratches on her skin. In that instant, her heart shattered—she even began to feel utter despair.
She drifted through the next two days in a haze, barely eating or drinking, lost in her emotions. When she cried herself out, she slept; when she woke, she cried again. Her whole being seemed withered, completely devoid of life.
Then, at 10:00 a.m., her phone rang. Thinking it was her alarm, she didn't even look and just pressed "dismiss." But the ringing started again, forcing her to sit up in bed and grab the phone. The screen clearly displayed the main number of the university hospital.
"Hello, is this Miss Sophie Davies? This is the university hospital. We regret to inform you that your mother's body can be stored free of charge in the hospital mortuary for one week. Please contact a funeral home as soon as possible to arrange the transfer of the remains. Thank you." The voice on the other end spoke in a very formal, routine manner.
Yet those words jolted Sophie awake. For two full days, she had neither eaten nor drunk, drowning in her grief—crying until exhaustion took over, sleeping, then crying again. She had become like a wilted plant, with no spark of vitality left.
No, she couldn't just give up on herself like this. Even if the whole world had abandoned her, she still had to live brilliantly, didn't she?
The thought suddenly clicked for Sophie. She began to pull herself together, sat down at her small desk, and wrote a simple plan:
Complete Mom's funeral arrangements within 15 days.
Handle U.S. study-abroad procedures promptly—apply to schools and prepare all required application documents.
Move out. Rent a short-term single room that's cheaper.
Work. The study-abroad application process will likely take 3–5 months; use this time to take on as many part-time jobs as possible and save up as much as she can for tuition and living expenses.
Try to secure housing in the U.S. before arrival to save on hotel costs.
In just half a month, thanks to Sophie's determined efforts, the first four items on the plan were about 80% complete.
Her mother's funeral had taken place two days earlier, entirely arranged and handled by Sophie herself—she hadn't asked her uncle for help. Only on the final day, when the ashes were interred and the headstone placed, did she invite her uncle's family to attend. Jonathan, still hospitalized, could only miss it with regret. The funeral expenses had nearly wiped out all her savings, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through.
The U.S. study plans, however, hit a snag. She had been expelled from LSE. Although her grades during her university years were excellent, that stain on her record made the path to studying in America much harder—many schools simply wouldn't accept students with such a history. Sophie had no choice but to lower her sights and apply to community colleges instead.
She then found an even more out-of-the-way apartment and rented a tiny single room. It could barely fit a 1.1-meter bed and a small desk; there was almost no other space—turning around in it was already a challenge.
Sophie dragged all the household items she had originally brought from Manchester to a recycling station and sold them for a bit of cash. She kept only her books and the clothes she regularly wore. With just two suitcases in hand, she opened the door, ready to leave.
At that exact moment, her uncle Matthew was standing outside, about to knock. When the door swung open and he saw the room completely empty, he immediately understood everything. His face grew grave as he looked at Sophie. "If I hadn't come today, were you planning to leave without even telling me you were moving?"