Jason didn't answer right away. His jaw clenched, his eyes flicking to the floor like the answer lay buried in the white tiles.
I repeated the question, my voice firmer now despite the tightness in my chest. "What was it?"
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. He pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat beside me, his posture tense. When he finally looked up, his eyes were full of guilt.
"Janica…" he began, his voice soft but heavy. "I need you to just breathe for a second, okay? Let me explain."
I froze, caught off guard by the urgency in his tone. Something in me wanted to rush the words out, to demand the answers, but Jason's hand gently brushed mine, grounding me.
His touch sent a quiet warmth through me, like he was trying to steady us both. It reminded me of all the times he'd held me when the world felt too heavy. For a heartbeat, nothing else mattered—just him, just us.
I closed my eyes briefly, the warmth of his hand lingering, and the aching pull in my chest deepened. The love that had quietly woven itself between us was undeniable now. It wasn't just the way he cared for me in moments like this; it was the quiet strength he gave me without even knowing it. My body responded to his touch in a way that made it clear—I trusted him.
"Just… let me explain," he whispered, his voice calm, like he was trying to calm himself too.
I nodded. The fear didn't feel so heavy anymore.
"She was looking into a man named Peterson," he said quietly. "You don't know him. Not yet, anyway."
I blinked. "Who is he?"
He paused before answering. "He's… a powerful man, Janica. A businessman with a lot of influence. Your mother thought he was hiding something big—something dangerous. She tried to warn people, but no one listened. Said his company was a front for something else. Something darker. She stumbled across documents—financial records, missing shipments, coded communication. And then… she got sick."
A chill ran through me, deeper than before. "Are you saying someone made her sick?"
"I'm saying," Jason said carefully, "that her death wasn't just bad luck. The more I dig, the more I find the same names cropping up around your mother's files. Names I've been trying to piece together for years. Peterson's is one of them."
I froze, my mind spiraling into a place I didn't want to go but couldn't ignore.
For a long moment, I couldn't speak, as if the weight of his words had turned my thoughts into stone. Slowly, the idea formed, cold and dispassionate. It wasn't just the cancer. It wasn't just the inevitable decline. Something else had been at play, something far darker than I had ever imagined.
I felt a shiver, but it wasn't out of fear. It was the chilling realization that they had been methodical, calculating. She hadn't died of the illness. She'd been quietly pushed closer to death—by someone who knew exactly what they were doing.
Maybe it was the food she ate, the water she drank. Medicine that was tampered with. Even something as simple as her routine, interrupted. They could have made sure she never had a fighting chance.
My heart felt distant, almost numb as the thought settled in. My mother had been nothing more than collateral damage in a game I hadn't even known existed.
"They didn't have to kill her right away," I said, my voice sounding like it came from someone else—cold, clear, devoid of the emotion that would have once consumed me. "They just needed to make sure she couldn't survive it."
Jason didn't say anything at first, but I could feel his eyes on me, his understanding shifting. He'd never seen me like this—detached, maybe even calculating in the way I processed the truth.
The silence between us felt heavy, but I didn't break it. I was done with confusion. Done with emotional overload.
This wasn't just about my mother anymore.
It was about something much bigger.
I stared at him, my thoughts spiraling. "But why target me?"
Jason hesitated, his gaze softening as if the weight of his words were too much to carry. He looked down for a moment, as if searching for the right way to say it. Then, his voice came out quieter, tinged with sorrow.
"Because you're her daughter," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "And because someone out there believes she told you something. Or left something with you."
His eyes locked with mine, and for a moment, I saw the sorrow in them. Like he hated that he had to say these things to me. But he couldn't shield me from the truth, not anymore.
I tried to breathe, but my chest felt tight again.
"And you?" I asked. "Why are you involved in all this?"
Jason leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Because I was part of it once. Not the bad stuff, but I was tied to Peterson's world more than I knew. I grew up in the same children's home he donated to, worked in his company briefly during my internship. I didn't see it then, but your mom… she tried to warn me too. She was kind to me, Janica. I owe her."
Silence hung between us. Heavy. Unspoken.
I couldn't keep it in anymore. The questions burned inside me—I needed to know.
"Jason…" I started, my voice trembling despite the grip I tried to keep on it. "How did you know my mother?"
He froze, hand mid-air, the weight of my question settling between us like a storm cloud. Guilt flickered across his face before he quickly tried to hide it, but I caught it.
My heart pounded in my chest. "Did you know her before we met? Before I ever told you about her?" I swallowed, hard. "Why didn't you say anything? Why am I only hearing this now?"
Jason drew in a shaky breath. "I knew her, Janica. Just before she passed. She came to the company a few times. We crossed paths. Somehow… we connected."
I stared at him, stunned.
"She was kind to me," he continued, voice lower now. "She saw me when no one else did. We didn't know each other long, but she left an impact."
Then, more softly: "I recognized her when you said her name. The way you described her—it hit me. I knew. I wanted to tell you, Janica, but… the guilt. It froze me. I didn't know how to explain I'd known your mother—and I left."
I stared at him, my chest tightening. This revelation made everything worse, not better.
"You should have told me," I whispered, almost to myself. "You should've said something sooner."
Pain laced through me as I shifted. I couldn't move much, so I just lay there, staring at the ceiling while the weight of his words settled over me like dust. I pulled the blanket higher, hiding the part of me that still wanted to believe him.
Jason didn't speak at first. Then finally, he said, "I didn't want to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen. I just… I didn't know how to tell you then. And now it feels like it's too late."
Too late?
My chest ached. Was this all true? Or was it just another carefully delivered truth wrapped in half-lies?
I turned to face him, my voice quiet but firm. "So… what now? What do we do with this? With everything you know?"
He reached for me, but I instinctively pulled back. There was a wall now—one we hadn't built, but it stood tall between us.
Jason's eyes dimmed with regret. "I was trying to protect you. I thought maybe if I could keep it from you a little longer, I'd find a better way to explain. But the truth waited for neither of us."
"You should have told me sooner," I said again, voice trembling.
And still—despite everything—part of me wanted to believe him. Wanted to reach for what we were building. But now there was distance between us. Quiet. Unspoken. Painful.
"I don't know if I can just… accept this," I admitted, eyes locked on his. "How can I trust anything now?"
Jason didn't answer immediately. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before he gently placed it on mine. The warmth of his touch felt like a lifeline, and I didn't pull away. "We'll get through this," he said, his voice calm but thick with emotion. "I won't give up on us, Janica. I'm sorry for the pain I've caused. But I want us to move forward, together."
I turned my face away from him, toward the wall, and slowly pulled the blanket over my shoulders, cocooning myself. "Maybe we can't, Jason," I murmured, my throat tight. "But right now, I need space. I need to breathe without this… without you."
His eyes widened, hurt flashing across them. "Janica, please—"
"Go," I said, firmer now. "Please. I just… I can't do this right now."
A heavy silence fell.
Then I heard the soft shuffle of his steps, the quiet creak of the door.
He paused at the threshold, his hand on the knob. "You might need space," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, "but I'm still here. When you're ready."
The door clicked shut.
I lay there, still as stone, the echo of his words hanging in the air long after he'd gone. I should have felt relief, but I didn't. An ache of emptiness pressed down on my chest like a weight I couldn't move.
The minutes stretched, melted together. I didn't sleep.
I couldn't.
At some point, I turned my head toward the window, drawn by a presence I couldn't explain.
And Jason was there. Framed in the soft, golden wash of early evening, standing outside, backlit by a faint glow from the streetlamp.
My throat tightened. Something about the way he stood—shoulders heavy, but gaze lifted—stirred something deep inside me. He looked like he was holding the whole weight of what we were… what we might never be.
I swallowed hard. "Jason," I called out, my voice rasping through the stillness. "Come in."
His head snapped toward me, eyes meeting mine through the window. For a breath, neither of us moved.
Then he opened the door.
He didn't speak right away. Neither did I. The silence between us wasn't angry now. Just raw.
"I'll help," I said, quietly. "But not for Peterson. And not for justice."
Jason's brows furrowed, eyes fixed on me. "Then… why?"
I held his gaze, steady this time. "For her. And for me."
He took a deep breath, nodded once.
Then he walked to the window again, pushing the curtain back slightly as if trying to see beyond the moment.
Something shifted in his posture.
"What is it?" I asked, suddenly alert.
He turned back to me, a strange look in his eyes. Hope. Maybe fear.
"There's a journal," he said. "Your mom used to write in it."
I froze.
"What?"
Jason took a step closer, his voice low—careful. "I think it might still be at your home, Janica. And I think it might change everything."