Chapter 4
Ever since the successful "Military Family Pride Day," our lives had gradually settled into a normal routine.
The bullying incident was properly handled. The students who made those malicious videos received appropriate disciplinary action, and the school strengthened its anti-bullying education. Liam's situation at school improved significantly—he even made a few new friends. More importantly, after that late-night father-son conversation, Jason and Liam's relationship was slowly healing.
Everything was getting better, until the second week of November when I got sick.
That morning, I woke up feeling lightheaded with a dry, sore throat.
Damn flu.
I forced myself to get up, but as soon as I reached the bathroom door, a wave of dizziness hit me. I had to lean against the wall for support.
Voices from downstairs—Jason and Liam talking. I tried to make myself look less weak and walked down the stairs.
"Good morning," my voice came out hoarse.
Jason was pouring milk into his coffee mug. He immediately turned around when he heard my voice. "Wendy? You don't look so good."
"Just a little tired," I waved my hand dismissively, walking toward the kitchen island. "Let me make breakfast—"
Before I could finish the sentence, my legs went weak and my body involuntarily leaned forward.
Jason quickly rushed over to catch me, his warm, strong hands supporting me as he pressed his palm against my forehead.
"You have a fever. High temperature. Go back to bed and rest."
"I'm fine, just—"
"Wendy, your face is completely pale," Liam said, dropping his backpack and walking over with concern. "You should go sleep."
"But breakfast—"
"I'll handle it," Jason said firmly. "Liam, help me get her upstairs."
The father and son supported me on both sides as they helped me back to the master bedroom. Jason tucked me under the covers while Liam placed a glass of water on the nightstand.
"I'll get you some fever reducer," Jason said. "I'll call work and take the day off."
"No need, you should go to work," I said weakly. "I can manage on my own."
"I know what Mom used to drink when she was sick," Liam suddenly spoke up. "She would make millet porridge with a little salt and ginger. She said it would restore energy without burdening the stomach."
This was the first time he had voluntarily mentioned his deceased mother, and it was to help me.
"That sounds really nice," I said softly. "If it's not too much trouble."
"It's not trouble," Liam shook his head. "I remember how to make it. Dad, you can go to work. I can take care of Wendy."
Jason hesitated. "Liam, are you sure?"
"I'm sure," Liam nodded. "It's Saturday, so no school. And..." he paused, "I want to take care of her."
An hour later, Liam walked into the room carrying a bowl of steaming millet porridge.
The porridge was cooked perfectly—the grains were soft but not mushy, with a gentle ginger flavor that was soothing rather than harsh. More importantly, I could feel the care that went into making it.
"How does it taste?" Liam sat in the chair beside the bed, asking nervously.
"It's delicious," I said sincerely. "Is it as good as your mom's?"
He nodded, a flash of nostalgia in his eyes. "She always said that taking care of sick people was the most basic expression of love. Whether family, friends, or strangers—when they're vulnerable, we should reach out our hand."
Looking at this fourteen-year-old boy, I felt deeply moved. He was taking care of me in the way his mother had taught him.
"Liam," I said gently, "your mom sounds like she was an amazing person."
"She was," his voice caught slightly. "She always knew how to make people feel better. Just like... like what you do for Dad."
Those words made my heart skip a beat. "What do I do for your dad?"
Liam looked at me and smiled. "That night when he had his episode, you weren't scared. You knew how to help him. Mom used to be like that too."
He paused. "I've tried many times, but I'm just a kid. I don't know how to help an adult come out of nightmares."
"Liam, you've already done so well," I reached out to gently stroke his hair. "Now I'm here. We can help him together."
Liam nodded, a look of relief in his eyes. "You know what? After Mom died, I thought no one in our house would ever be able to make this kind of porridge again. But today... today it feels like she's still here."
"She is still here—in you, in every way of loving that you learned from her."
"Mom would have liked you," Liam said suddenly. "She always said the best people are those who don't abandon others when they need them most."
We smiled at each other, and in that moment, I felt a real mother-son connection.
At three in the afternoon, I was half-asleep when I suddenly heard a loud banging at the front door.
"OPEN UP! Wendy! I know you're in there!"
My heart sank. That was Derek's voice.
"Liam?" I called out weakly.
No response. He must have gone to the store to buy medicine—he'd said he'd be back in an hour.
The banging grew more violent, accompanied by Derek's frantic shouting. "Wendy! You can't hide from me! We need to TALK!"
I shakily got out of bed and walked to the window to look down. Derek was ramming the front door with his shoulder, looking even more disheveled and crazed than last time.
"CRACK—"
The front door gave way.
My heart pounded as I quickly locked the bedroom door and grabbed my phone to call Jason.
"Jason, Derek broke into the house," I whispered. "I'm in the bedroom, but the door won't hold for long—"
"I'm coming right now," Jason's voice was urgent. "Call the police and find somewhere to hide. I'll be there in ten minutes."
Footsteps echoed up the stairs as Derek shouted while climbing. "Wendy! Stop hiding! We need to have a GOOD TALK!"
The bedroom door shook as he pounded on it. "Open up! I know you can hear me! I KNOW you're in there!"
I hid behind the bed, trembling all over. The fever made my head foggy—I couldn't think clearly.
"BANG!"
Derek started kicking the door hard, making the frame shake.
"Those debt collectors found me, Wendy!" his voice came through the door. "They're going to KILL me! You have to help me! We're married—you can't abandon me!"
"Derek, we're DIVORCED!" I shouted back. "And I don't have money to help you!"
"You DO!" Derek roared. "You're living in this fancy house now—your new husband must be LOADED!"
"BANG!"
A crack appeared in the door frame.
I dialed 911, but before I could finish speaking, the door burst open.
Derek appeared in the doorway—hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, gripping a kitchen knife in his right hand.
Jesus, had he completely lost it?
"Finally found you," he said, brandishing the knife as he walked toward me. "Come with me nicely, and we'll go ask your husband for money."
"I'm not going anywhere with you," I backed away. "Derek, you need help, but not the kind I can give."
"You HAVE to help me!" He suddenly lunged forward and grabbed my arm. "They said if I don't pay up tonight, they'll cut off my fingers!"
I struggled to break free, but the fever left me weak. "Let me GO!"
"NO!" Derek's eyes held a desperate madness. "You're my last hope!"
"I'm not your hope anymore," I struggled to say. "I have a new life now, with people who actually CARE about me!"
Just then, urgent footsteps sounded from downstairs.
"Wendy!" Jason's voice called out.
Derek's face changed, and he pressed the knife against my throat. "Call him up here! Make him give me money!"
"Jason!" I shouted. "Be careful, Derek has a—"
Derek covered my mouth. "SHUT UP!"