Chapter 1 – Invisible
Chapter 1 – Invisible
Anna
What would you do if a disheveled woman walked through your front door sobbing?
Any decent human being would ask:
“Who are you?”
“Why are you crying?”
“What are you doing here?”
Or the heartless would kick her out immediately.
But not him. He simply looked up and down between me and his book. No further reaction. No acknowledgment. No care. No matter how much I prayed for concern—any flicker of it—I got nothing.
I broke.
“Aren’t you going to ask me where I’ve been this past year?!” I spoke up—for the first time in my life.
Silence—like always.
Furious, I stormed over and flipped the coffee table. Magazines flew, and hot liquid splattered across the floor in a messy stain.
He didn’t flinch. He simply glanced at the spilled coffee... then stood up.
“Clean it up,” he said.
Three words. The first in two decades. That’s how long it had been since I last heard his voice.
“Why?” I grabbed his arm, desperate—pleading—not for the mess on the floor, but for an answer… for anything. Something.
Why bring me here just to tear me down like I don’t exist?
Why not just give me up for adoption?
Fed up with what he probably sees as a tantrum, the man stood abruptly, grabbed his keys, and like always—he went for a drive to escape.
Not this time.
I wasn’t going to let him disappear without giving me the answers I’ve begged for in silence. I grabbed hold of him, holding on with every ounce of strength I had. But strength means little when you’re up against a six-foot wall of indifference. He shoved me aside effortlessly, and walked out.
I fell—but this time, I refused to be ignored. Not again. Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself up, and I took off after him, heart pounding, breath ragged.
Before he could pull out of the driveway, I threw myself in front of the slowly moving car. Tires crunched against the pavement, the engine rumbling beneath the hood like a warning growl.
He stopped and stared. Right here. Right now, I existed.
But he didn’t yell. He didn’t argue. His eyes met mine—just for a heartbeat—blank, unreadable. Then he looked away, as if I were nothing more than a shadow on the pavement. The car eased into reverse, tires crunching as he steered around me with calculated precision… like I was nothing. Just another obstacle in his way.
He saw me. And yet somehow, I was still invisible.
“Why?” I asked, my voice breaking, desperation pouring from my lips as I fell to my knees—begging for answers.
BOOM!
My head snapped up, tears still clinging to my lashes—but something else hurt more than the sting. Something deeper. Time seemed to slow, stretching out each second like it wanted me to feel every ache.
His car moved in slow motion, the polished black surface of his Mercedes catching the light and momentarily blinding me. And then—his face came into view. His eyes—locked on to mine.
For the first time, there was something in his eyes other than emptiness. Recognition - something real. For the first time—I existed.
But it was too late.
“Help! Someone help!” I screamed, scrambling to my feet and rushing toward him, heart hammering in my chest, panic clawing at my throat.
When I reached the upturned car, my breath caught. He was covered in blood—so much of it, I thought he was already gone. The world tilted. My pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out everything.
Then—he moved. Just barely. A low, broken groan slipped from his lips, so faint it almost vanished beneath the chaos pounding inside my chest. I didn’t hesitate to grabbed the door handle.
“Hold on!” I screamed, my voice cracking as I fumbled with the handle, hands trembling.
By some miracle, it was unlocked. The door creaked open, groaning in protest. With every ounce of strength my 5′5" frame could summon, I wrapped my arms around him and pulled—dragging him out, inch by agonizing inch, from the crumpled wreckage.
We hadn’t gotten far—barely a few feet—when I heard it. A deafening roar split the air, followed by a blast of heat and light. The force slammed into us like a wave, hurling our bodies forward. Then... darkness.
As I lay there, motionless, the world pressed in around me. I could feel the cold, damp blades of grass against my skin, sharp and unyielding.
In the distance, dogs barked, voices rose in panic, sirens screamed through the night—and somehow, beneath it all, I could still hear the faint chirping of crickets, hauntingly out of place.
The chaos swirled around me, loud and relentless, until it blurred into nothing. My mind went blank. And I sank—slowly, helplessly—into the silence.
The next thing I knew was pain—radiating from every inch of me, sharp and all-consuming. My head throbbed, each pulse like a hammer strike—relentless, punishing, unyielding. My arms were limp, useless. I tried to move, but they felt heavy as stone, pinned by invisible weight. I was trapped in my own body, helpless and aching.
With immense effort, I managed to crack my eyes open—just a sliver. Light poured in like a blade, slicing through my skull with searing precision. I gasped and slammed them shut again, the pain too much, too sharp, too soon.
“Dr. Marlin, she’s awake,” I heard a woman’s voice say nearby.
Doctor?
I'm at the hospital?
Confused, I forced my eyes open again—slower this time. After a few failed attempts and a lot of blinking, I finally managed to keep them open.
The first thought that crossed my foggy mind was, He’s not as good-looking as a certain someone. But the second that thought formed, I regretted it—instantly. Now was definitely not the time to crack open that can of worms.
“Can you hear me?” the elderly doctor asked.
“What?” I murmured, groaning as the headache intensified. “Where… where am I?”
“Harmony Hospital,” he answered gently. “You were involved in an accident. Do you remember anything?”
“Accident…” The word echoed in my head, and after a few more moments, the memories came rushing back all at once.
On instinct, I shot upright—only to collapse back into the bed as a wave of searing pain exploded in my skull.
“Calm down. You’re in no condition to get up,” the nurse warned, gently but firmly easing me back down.
“Where is Mr. Hamburg?” I asked weakly.
“He’s recovering after surgery,” the nurse replied.
“Surgery? What? What day is it today?”
“Tuesday,” she answered calmly.
Five days!
I’d been out for five days. The weight of that sank in slowly, like a stone dropping through water. My head throbbed as I struggled to piece everything together, memories slipping through my fingers like smoke.
“Take me to see Mr. Hamburg,” I demanded.
“He’s recovering,” the doctor replied, casting a disapproving look my way.
“Please, I need to see him,” I insisted, my voice trembling with urgency.
The doctor finally relented. “After a thorough check-up, Sue will take you.”
Once I was cleared of any serious injuries, Sue helped ease me into a wheelchair and guided me down the hall, her footsteps soft against the polished floor.
That’s when I met the senior doctor—Dr. Weld. An older man with kind eyes and a steady presence, he carried the quiet authority of someone who’d spent a lifetime in medicine.
“How is he?” I asked, peering through the small window that framed the unconscious man inside.
Even now, seeing him like this, I couldn’t bring myself to go near him. We were never close to begin with—distant, like strangers who shared a name.
So why did I care?
Why did it ache like this?
“We were able to save his life,” Dr. Weld began, his voice steady but solemn, “but the impact of the crash bruised the part of his brain that controls major motor functions. As a result, that part has completely shut down. I’m afraid he won’t be able to move, speak… or even hear you.”
“Is he brain dead?” I asked.
“Not quite,” Dr. Weld replied. “Some parts of his brain have shut down as a protective measure in response to trauma. The rest of his brain is still functioning. However, if left untreated, he’s at risk of complete shutdown.”
“Left untreated? What do you mean?” I asked, confused.
“Let’s discuss this in my office,” he said.
Dr. Weld guided me into his office. The room was large and spacious, its minimalist design somehow making me feel both vulnerable and exposed. The walls were bare, the silence pressing.
“Have a seat,” he said gently, gesturing to the chair across from him.
“Your father is in critical condition. At his age, without immediate treatment, there’s a high risk that his brain could shut down completely. The last time your mother was here, she informed us that your family couldn’t afford the necessary treatment.”
Money problem?
“That can’t be,” I said in disbelief. “He’s Mr. Hamburg, CEO of Lucky Star,” I added, almost offended.
“Calm down. I’m simply relaying what your mother told us,” Dr. Weld replied, his tone calm and even.
“She’s his wife, but she’s not my mother.” I corrected firmly. “Can I borrow your phone?”
Dr. Weld nodded and stepped out of the room, leaving me alone with the quiet. I picked up the phone and dialed Darla’s number, my fingers trembling slightly.
The line rang, each tone stretching longer than the last as I waited—patient, but tense. Then—click. She hung up. I stared at the phone for a second, stunned, before dialing again. Same result. Another cold, final click. She was shutting me out.
But I pressed on. It took four more tries—four hollow rings and sharp rejections—before Darla's voice shot through the line, sharp and angry.
“Hello,” Darla answered.
I could hear music and chatter in the background—laughter, people shouting, the clink of glass against glass. Even Darla sounded off, her words slightly slurred. Clearly, she was already drunk. No wonder she didn’t want to answer me.
“It’s Anna. We need to talk,” I said firmly.
“Took you long enough. I’ll be there in two hours,” she replied—and hung up before I could say another word.
Once that was done, I went back for a quick glance at Mr. Hamburg before returning to the ward—where all that was left to do was play the waiting game.
