CHAPTER 91: CHAPTER 91: CLAIRE CALDWELL IS ALIVE

Justin Holden stopped in his tracks.

He glanced at the orange handed over by the intern, his gaze lacking warmth, then lifted his eyes, scanning the few people who had suddenly quieted down by the break room.

He spoke, his voice steady and clear, without any emotional fluctuations, yet it immediately froze the surrounding air.

"I don’t have a girlfriend."

The smile on the intern’s face instantly stiffened, her hand holding the orange suspended in mid-air, unable to pass it along nor retract it, her cheeks quickly flushed red.

The few people by the break room also instantly fell silent, exchanging awkward glances, silently putting down the oranges in their hands.

Justin Holden didn’t look at them again, nor did he take the orange, holding his documents as he continued forward, the soles of his shoes on the carpet emitting a dull, rhythmic sound.

His subordinates behind exchanged glances in silence, quietly covered the fruit box, and none dared to touch it.

The corridor of the nursing home was long, filled with a faint smell of disinfectant.

The sunlight slanted in from the window at the end, extending long patches of light on the floor.

Jean Ellison carried a bag of fresh fruit, walking familiarly to the door of the innermost room.

The door was ajar.

She gently pushed it open.

Susan Kingston was sitting in the wheelchair by the window, wearing clean patient clothes, her hair half-white and neatly combed.

She was looking at an evergreen tree in the courtyard outside the window, her profile quiet, her eyes clear.

Jean Ellison put down the fruit, her voice very light: "Aunt Kingston."

Susan Kingston slowly turned her head, her gaze falling on Jean Ellison’s face.

She looked carefully for a while, her brows slightly furrowing, scrutinizing Jean.

This little girl, who is she, how does she look so much like Claire, like her daughter.

"You are..."

Susan Kingston’s voice was hoarse, but her speech was clear, she wasn’t currently ill, her mental state was normal.

"The new caregiver? You look a bit familiar."

Jean Ellison’s heart sank, but she showed a gentle smile.

"No, my surname is Ellison, I’m Jean Ellison, I’ve visited you before."

"I’m Claire’s friend."

"Jean Ellison..."

Susan Kingston murmured the name again, shaking her head to show no recollection.

Her gaze still lingered on Jean’s face, watching, suddenly there was something else in her eyes.

"You... you really look like my daughter."

Susan Kingston said, her lips slightly curving, the smile was faint, carrying a distant nostalgia, then it dulled again.

"But my daughter... she can’t come now."

Jean Ellison’s throat tightened, her fingers unconsciously curled.

Susan Kingston sighed, her voice lowered as if talking to herself.

"She was framed, she’s in prison, won’t be able to come out for a while."

Her tone was very calm, as if stating a fixed fact, only a trace of pain hidden deep in her eyes.

"I don’t even know if I’ll live to see the day she gets out."

At that moment, the nurse in charge of Susan Kingston entered with a cup of water and pills, greeted with a smile.

"Miss Ellison is here." She walked to Susan Kingston’s side, softly said: "Aunt Kingston, it’s time for your medication."

The nurse, while preparing Susan Kingston’s medication, habitually whispered to Jean Ellison, her tone carrying some comfort.

"Aunt Kingston’s condition is quite good today, she’s fairly clear-minded."

"It’s just... well, she always thinks her daughter is serving time, not knowing she’s actually already..."

The nurse didn’t finish her sentence, but the implication was clear.

She thought Susan Kingston wouldn’t hear, or wouldn’t understand even if she did.

Susan Kingston’s hand holding the cup suddenly shook, warm water spilled out, soaking the front of her patient clothes.

She suddenly raised her head, staring at the nurse with clouded eyes, her lips started to tremble uncontrollably.

"You... what did you say?" Her voice suddenly heightened, sharp and broken, "Claire... what happened to her!"

The nurse was startled, realizing she had misspoken, her face instantly turned pale, hurriedly trying to explain: "Aunt Kingston, I didn’t mean that, you heard wrong..."

"Is she dead?"

Susan Kingston seemed not to hear her at all, the cup in her hand fell to the ground with a "clatter," glass shards scattered everywhere.

Her withered hand grasped the wheelchair armrest, her nails turned white, her body began to shake violently.

"Claire... my Claire is dead? It can’t be... you’re lying to me, all of you are lying to me."

Her breathing hurried, her gaze suddenly scattered, filled with frantic fear and despair, she began to hysterically cry out, struggling to stand from the wheelchair, but weakly collapsed.

"My daughter, no, she’s not dead, you bring her back to me!"

The nurse panicked, quickly stepped up to try to hold her down: "Aunt Kingston, please calm down, don’t be upset, I misspoke."

But Susan Kingston was already completely out of control, forcefully flung the nurse’s hand away, her cries shattered the room’s tranquility.

Jean Ellison rushed forward, unable to avoid the glass shards on the ground, she felt the soles of her feet cut by the glass, sticky blood spread under her feet, the pain struck instantly.

She disregarded the wound, squatted down, tightly embraced Susan Kingston’s endlessly trembling body.

Susan Kingston struggled violently in her arms, her nails scratched Jean’s arm, the cries pierced the eardrum.

"Aunt Kingston, Aunt Kingston, look at me."

Jean tightened her hold, speaking urgently, her voice pressed very low, close to her ear.

"Listen to me, she’s not dead, Claire’s not dead,"

Susan Kingston’s struggle paused for a moment, her murky eyes blankly faced Jean, tears streaming down her face.

The nurse anxiously looked at Jean, then at the out-of-control Susan Kingston, speech stumbling.

"Medicine... I’ll get tranquilizers, Miss Ellison, please keep an eye on her."

She turned and fled the room.

When Susan Kingston broke down, went crazy, the nurse understood better than anyone.

In the room, only Susan Kingston’s uncontrollable sobs and heavy breaths remained.

Jean tightly embraced her, sensing the thin body’s violent tremors in her arms.

She glanced at the empty doorway, then looked down at Susan Kingston’s face on the brink of collapse, her heart felt tightly gripped by a massive hand.

She took a deep breath, her voice pressed extremely low, only Susan Kingston could hear, every word crystal clear.

"Mom."

Susan Kingston suddenly shuddered, her eyes widened a bit.

Jean looked at her, her gaze impossibly complex, speaking rapidly and urgently, "I’m not dead, I am Claire, your daughter Claire Caldwell."

Susan Kingston completely ceased struggling, staring blankly at her, like identifying, like dreaming.

Claire really returned, how did she become like this, thin to the point of unrecognizable.

"I didn’t really die," Jean repeated, holding tighter, "but now I can’t be Claire Caldwell, you understand? I have my reasons, I can only be Jean Ellison now."

She raised her hand, gently wiped away the tears from Susan Kingston’s face, her gaze focused on her bewildered eyes.

"So, stop thinking about Claire Caldwell, forget her, just think of me as Jean Ellison now, okay? I can only live with this identity."

Susan Kingston’s breathing gradually calmed down, no longer shouting, only her body still slightly trembling.

Her clouded eyes unwaveringly stared at Jean, staring for a long time, as if fiercely digesting and understanding the unbelievable words.

From outside the corridor, nurse’s hurried footsteps returning was heard.

Susan Kingston suddenly raised her withered hand, cautiously touched Jean’s cheek, her fingertips cold.

Her lips moved, voice very light, carrying immense confusion and lingering fear, strangely calmed down.

"Not dead... you’re called Jean Ellison..."

Jean heavily nodded: "Yes."

Susan Kingston looked at her, the madness and despair in her eyes slowly receding, replaced by numb acceptance.

She murmured: "Good... not being Claire is good... not being good..."

The nurse rushed in with the syringe, seeing Susan Kingston quieted down, she froze.

Susan Kingston leaned against Jean, closed her eyes, showing extreme fatigue, her voice light as a sigh.

"As long as you can live well... that’s good."

Jean held her tight, lowered her head, buried her face in her frail shoulder, not moving for a long time.