When the Emergency Light Was On
My daughter Dora curled up in the shifting patches of light on the floor, motionless. Her small body wrapped in a pink dress, the once lively figure that always skipped and jumped was now unbearably still.
Sunlight filtered through the half-open curtains, casting mottled shadows across the floor, dust motes drifting in the shafts of light.
This familiar scene had warmed me countless times before, but now the air was thick with an overwhelming panic that wouldn't fade.
I scrambled forward in a frantic rush, my knee striking the corner of the coffee table hard, a dull ache flaring instantly, but I barely had time to tend to it.
I reached out carefully to lift Dora into my arms; her small face was pale as rice paper, completely colorless, her lips cracked and dry, her breath so faint I had to press my nose close just to barely feel it.
My fingertips brushed her icy skin, and my heart felt as if gripped tightly by an invisible hand, aching so fiercely that even breathing became a struggle.
I could feel her body's frailty with startling clarity; each faint breath twisted the knot in my chest even tighter.
"Dora, wake up!" I whispered softly by her ear, my voice trembling uncontrollably.
Her eyelashes fluttered faintly, but her eyes remained shut; her brows knitted tightly, and her small fists clung to the hem of my clothes, as if holding onto the only solid thing left in this world.
I hurriedly grabbed my phone, my fingers trembling so badly that it took three tries before I managed to dial Daniel Collins' number correctly.
The busy tone repeated endlessly through the receiver, again and again—three attempts in a row—with only the cold automated message echoing in my ear: "The number you have dialed is temporarily unreachable."
Dora let out a soft hum in my arms, pressing her little head against me as if searching for a shred of warmth.
I stared at her pale, lifeless face, tears welling up in my eyes—I couldn't bear to wait any longer.
I held her tightly, stumbling as I rushed toward the door.
The cold wind blew into the stairwell, carrying the sharp chill of late autumn, making me shiver.
I hurriedly wrapped Dora even tighter in my arms, sheltering her small body with my own coat, terrified she might catch another chill.
A faint scent of disinfectant lingered in the hallway—left by Ms. Wilson on the third floor when she disinfected at noon.
In the past, that smell used to bring me comfort, but now it unsettled me completely; my steps quickened as I hurried down the stairs.
At the community gate, I stood on tiptoe, anxiously flagging down taxis; my arms ached from the effort, yet I dared not relax for a moment.
Every taxi that passed sparked a flicker of hope in me, only for it to deepen into despair as it drifted away.
Just then, my phone suddenly lit up — a notification from Willow Lynn's Moments.
On impulse, I tapped it open — on the screen, Daniel Collins sat on a bench in the children's hospital, holding his daughter Ann, carefully dabbing her face with a cotton swab soaked in warm water.
Ann's small face was flushed red, like she had a fever. Daniel Collins's eyes were full of adoration, and the corner of his mouth carried a gentle warmth I hadn't seen in a long time.
The caption read: "Thankfully, with you here, Ann can feel safe."
That sentence hit me like a bucket of ice water poured over my head; my heart plummeted, and my fingertips turned icy cold.
But despite that, the arms holding Dora gripped her tighter, clenched with anger and disappointment.
It wasn't that he hadn't seen the calls—it was that his time and tenderness had never truly belonged to Dora and me.
"Ms., getting in?" A taxi stopped right in front of me, the driver leaning out with a trace of urgency in his voice.
I suddenly snapped back to reality, quickly nodding, carefully lifting Dora into the back seat, afraid of hurting her accidentally.
The door closed, shutting out the cold wind outside, but it couldn't block the ache weighing on my heart.
Outside the window, sycamore leaves spiraled down, one after another, like fragments of my broken heart.
Tears spilled down uncontrollably, falling onto Dora's clothes, spreading a small, damp stain.
I quickly wiped it away with the back of my hand, afraid of waking the child and also ashamed in case the driver saw me like this.
The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, asked no questions, quietly pressed the accelerator, and turned down the radio.
Throughout the ride, the only sound in the car was the soft hum of the engine. I held Dora tightly, never taking my eyes off her face, silently praying, "Dora, don't be afraid. Mommy is taking you to the hospital. You'll be okay—you have to be okay."
At the hospital, I clutched Dora tightly and rushed straight to the emergency department. My high heels struck the tiled floor with urgent, rapid clicks, each step beating out the rhythm of my anxiety.
The nurse saw the unresponsive child and immediately hurried over: "Family, don't panic. Hand me the child—we'll examine her immediately."
She gently took Dora from my arms and swiftly pushed open the heavy doors marked 'Emergency Rescue.'
I stood at the doorway until the iron door clicked shut behind her, only then realizing my hands were still trembling uncontrollably, my knuckles white from gripping so tightly.
In the corridor, the sharp scent of disinfectant mixed with a faint trace of medicine hit me, making my head spin and my stomach churn.
I leaned against the wall and slowly made my way to the bench, sitting down with palms slick with cold sweat, silently repeating, "Please protect Dora; she must be safe, she must be safe."
Five minutes later, I called Daniel Collins for the fourth time.
This time, the call finally connected; his voice was edged with impatient annoyance, as if he had just been awakened, with a child's cries echoing in the background.
"Daniel Collins, Dora has fainted—she's in the hospital emergency room now!" I tried to keep my voice calm, but as the words escaped, they broke with sobs, each one painfully squeezed from my throat.
There was a pause of several seconds on the other end. Daniel's voice held no hint of concern—only dismissal: "How could she faint all of a sudden? She was fine this morning."
I'm busy right now; I can't leave.
"Busy?" I couldn't believe my ears. My voice shot up instantly, reverberating off the corridor walls, making me sound even more desperate. "What could be more important than our daughter's life?"
Dora is still in the emergency room, and as her father, you actually say you can't leave?
"Ann has a fever over 39 degrees and won't stop crying. Willow Lynn can't handle it alone—I have to stay here and take care of her." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if caring for Ann was only natural, while Dora's life-or-death situation meant nothing to him.
I gripped my phone so tightly my knuckles turned white, veins bulging on the back of my hand: "Daniel Collins, Ann is your daughter, isn't Dora yours too?"
When I rushed downstairs holding Dora, terrified she wouldn't wake up, how could you be so heartless?
"It's not that I'm ignoring Dora. As soon as Ann gets a little better, I'll go to the hospital to see her." His voice was thick with impatience, and after saying that, without waiting for me to speak again, he hung up the phone abruptly.
Hearing the busy signal ringing through the receiver, I took a deep breath, but my chest tightened further, each breath laced with pain.
I looked up Lawyer Lee's number in my contacts and pressed dial, forcing my voice to stay steady: "Lawyer Lee, I want a divorce. Please draft the divorce agreement as soon as possible—the sooner, the better."
After hanging up the phone, I leaned against the cold wall. The chill seeped through my clothes, but I didn't feel cold—I only felt utterly drained, all my strength gone, needing to lean on the wall just to stand.
The corridor bustled with people coming and going—some running anxiously, others quietly sobbing. Their voices blurred and faded into the background of my mind. Only the red light above the emergency room door flickered sharply before my eyes, stabbing into my aching eyes.
The next morning, I woke on the worn hospital chair, my entire body aching.
The doctor approached me gently and said that Dora was out of danger, but she still needed to be monitored in the hospital for another two days.
Hearing this, the heavy burden that had weighed on my heart all night finally lifted.
I asked the nurse to watch over Dora for a while, then took the digital copy of the divorce agreement sent by Lawyer Lee to a print shop near the hospital. After printing it out, I went back home.
I opened the door to find the living room light on, with Daniel Collins sitting on the sofa.
He wore grey loungewear, the collar crumpled, his hair tousled, dark circles under his eyes—he looked utterly exhausted.
He saw the file folder in my hand, and his face instantly darkened as he abruptly sat up straight.
"What are you doing? Just because I didn't go to the hospital yesterday?" He stood up, his voice accusatory, took two steps forward, and fixed his gaze on the file folder in my hand.
"It's not just about yesterday, Daniel." I placed the file folder on the coffee table, unzipped it, and spread out the divorce agreement. "It's every single day for the past two years. I've had enough. Truly, I've had enough."
"I didn't purposely skip going yesterday. Ann had a fever of 39 degrees and kept crying. Willow was alone and helpless. I couldn't just abandon them, could I?" He tried to explain, his voice carrying a hint of grievance, as if he were completely innocent.
"When Dora fainted, I was the one who carried her alone to the hospital—registering, paying fees, getting tests done—it was all on me. Who ever helped me?" I looked at him, my eyes devoid of their usual warmth, filled only with cold fatigue. "While I waited outside the emergency department, terrified that if I looked away for even a moment I might never see Dora again, you were with another woman's child."
Daniel Collins opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. He just furrowed his brow and silently stared at me.
After a while, he picked up his phone and, right in front of me, deleted Willow Lynn's W Chat and phone number, then turned the screen toward me: "Stella, I've deleted all her contacts. I won't have any dealings with them anymore. Please don't go through with the divorce, okay?"
Let's live our life well, alright?
He reached out to take my hand, but I stepped back, avoiding his touch: "Daniel Collins, it's too late."
Once the heart turns cold, the warmth never returns. I've already made up my mind. Here's the divorce agreement — look it over, and if you have no objections, just sign it.
"I know I was wrong. Can you please give me one more chance?" His voice trembled with desperation, his eyes filled with panic. "Our little family of three can be happy. From now on, I'll spend more time with you and Dora. I won't contact Willow Lynn again. Please, believe me, won't you?"
"I've given you countless chances, but you never treasured any of them." With those words, I turned and walked into the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind me, shutting out Daniel Collins's voice and his desperate pleas.
The bedroom was hushed, broken only by the chirping of birds outside the window—clear, yet carrying a subtle sense of distance.
I sank against the door, tears streaming down my face—not out of fear this time, but from a deep sense of relief.
The wedding photo still hung prominently on the bedroom wall.
In the photo, I wore a white wedding dress, smiling with pure happiness, while Daniel Collins stood beside me in a black suit, holding my waist tightly, his eyes so tender they seemed to pour with warmth.
Sunlight streamed across the photo, casting a piercing glare that involuntarily pulled me back to those days three years ago—days I once thought would save me but that ultimately plunged me into an abyss.
At that time, I had just ended a failed relationship.
My ex not only cheated on me but also took off with all the savings we had painstakingly built together when we broke up.
I not only lost love, but I was also on the verge of being unable to pay my rent.
During that time, I was completely lost and numb. I went to work with no energy, and after work, I hid in my cramped rented room, crying and too afraid to look in the mirror, fearing I would see my own broken reflection.
At my lowest moment, I met Daniel Collins at an industry networking event.
He was five years older than me, dressed in a sharp suit, speaking with gentle kindness, every movement conveying calm maturity.
Nervous, I accidentally spilled coffee on his suit. I expected anger, but he just smiled, said it was okay, and reassured me not to worry about it.
Since then, he often reached out to chat with me. Sometimes we'd talk about work; other times, he'd ask if I had eaten or if I was resting on time.
When I worked overtime, he would buy dinner in advance at the restaurant below my office and wait for me in the lobby. No matter how long it took, he never once complained.
On rainy days, he would bring an umbrella ahead of time and wait for me at the company's entrance, tilting most of the umbrella over me while his own shoulder got drenched.
On winter nights, he would take off his scarf, carefully wrap it around my neck, and remind me to be careful on the way home, asking me to message him once I arrived safely.
After six months together, one weekend evening, he took me to the restaurant where we first met.
I was looking down, eating dessert, when he suddenly dropped to one knee and pulled a ring box from his pocket. When he opened it, the diamond inside sparkled.
"Stella, I know I have a past marriage and a daughter, and I might not be worthy of you." His gaze was sincere, his voice tinged with nervousness. "But I promise I will treat Dora as my own daughter, care for you my whole life, and never let you suffer. Will you marry me?"
I hesitated, afraid of being hurt again, and worried about how things would be with Ann in the future.
But his eyes were always so gentle, and every little thing he did filled me with warmth.
In the end, I nodded and accepted his proposal.
I thought I had finally found someone to lean on, that I could at last have a happy home.
Download the SnackShort app, Search 【 455257 】reads the whole book.
My Fiction
SnackShort
Booklite« Previous Post
Veiled Escape from Mistaken Love
Next Post »
My Death, His Punishment