Chapter 139

The room was dim and narrow.

A simple bed, a table, and an old green lamp.

A glass of water sat on the table, looking like it had just been poured.

White paper, a pen gliding across it, making a scratching sound that took you back to the days before computers, when writers would lose themselves in their work.

After a long while, the pen tip trembled slightly and stopped.

A cigarette lay quietly on the table.

Alan didn't smoke, but someone did. He knew who.

He gently touched the cigarette, memories flooding back.

The room was eerily quiet, not a sound to be heard. The greatest sorrow isn't loud wailing, but sitting in silence, a heart utterly broken.

Behind him, a sickly man in a wheelchair sat silently, also holding a cigarette.

He was very ill, and even when he wasn't, he didn't smoke.

But someone did. He knew who.

He brought the unlit cigarette to his nose, inhaling its faint scent.

The subtle smell of tobacco reminded him of that brazen person who, knowing he hated the smell, would still fill the room with smoke.

At this moment, he felt a bit dazed, even tempted to light it and taste it.

The two men sat back to back, maintaining a tacit silence.

After a long while, Frank pressed a button on his wheelchair.

He turned, the wheels rolling slowly forward, covering a mere ten feet.

He moved very slowly, as if waiting for something. He had been waiting for a long time, over twenty years. He was patient enough to wait a few more seconds.

What was he waiting for?

Forgiveness? Empathy? Or perhaps, like before, a word of encouragement?

He realized he was foolishly hoping for time to rewind, to return to the past. How ludicrous!

"Frank, do you regret it?" Alan called his name.

The wheelchair stopped, the door already open.

Frank, sitting in the wheelchair, bowed his head in thought. He hadn't expected Alan to ask that.

Regret what?

Regret not killing Ronald, regret not cherishing friendships, regret letting Laura go, regret falling for that woman like a moth to a flame, or perhaps regret being alive?

He was silent, the question weighing heavily on him, making it hard to lift his head.

"I regret being alive."

With that, he left the room, not closing the door this time.

From outside, his voice came. "The door's always been open. You can leave."

Alan was stunned, a bitter expression on his face.

He had always known the door was open.

A sigh echoed through the house.

In another room, with the same layout, three beds made it even more cramped. The oppressive environment made any conversation unbearable.

Especially with two women present.

Tony frowned deeply, looking at the sorrowful Lally, his expression complex.

He had learned of Duke's death from Frank. It was unrelated to anyone else; a drug overdose had triggered a heart complication, and he hadn't been saved in time.

When he heard the news, his instinct was to look at Lally.

Even a good cry would have been better, or throwing a tantrum at Frank. But for three days, Lally hadn't said a word. She occasionally shed tears, refused to eat, and only drank a little water.

Tony hesitated, wanting to say so much, but the words stopped at his lips. He softly said, "Lally, look ahead."

"Look at this, so affectionate. Listen to him calling Lally, Tony, why did you marry me in the first place? Duke's dead, shouldn't you be happy?"

Anna, sitting on the bed against the wall, was fixing her hair, sneering. Her makeup was smeared, her face streaked with tears, looking haggard. The days of captivity hadn't been kind to her.

A woman always loved beauty, even in such circumstances, still tending to her hair.

Anna glanced at Lally sitting in the chair, her eyes full of resentment and jealousy.

"Anna, don't talk nonsense."

Tony frowned, ready to scold her but held back.

"What nonsense? Drug addicts deserve a thousand cuts, dying is what they deserve, saving others from harm. How much money did Duke borrow from you? Did he ever pay it back? If he's not rotting in the street, it must be due to some good deed from a past life."

Anna ranted on, glaring at Tony as she continued.

"You're a useless man, truly pathetic. When Frank came, I didn't hear you say a word. What are you afraid of? And Tom? That ungrateful bastard, the Thompson family raised him for so many years, how could he not know about this? He'd rather be Frank's lackey than look after his own brother. I guess your parents must have done something terrible in their past lives..."

"Enough!"

"Shut up!"

Tony and Lally said in unison.

Anna was clearly startled by their outburst, stunned for a moment, then pointed at them, laughing angrily.

"Look at this, a perfect match united against me. Go ahead, kill me today, I won't even blink!"

She straightened up, tears in her eyes, looking at them with a domineering air.

"Enough." Tony sighed, looking at Anna, his eyes complex. After a long while, he asked, "How did you know about the insurance?"

"What insurance? I don't understand what you're talking about, Tony, don't falsely accuse me!"

Anna instantly got angry.

"Falsely accuse?" Lally, who hadn't spoken, stared at Anna, her voice hoarse. "You killed Tammy for that insurance, didn't you? Mind your own business, you widow! You whore, slept with countless men! I'm talking to my husband, why are you butting in?"

Anna spat venomously, like a shrew, hitting where it hurt most.

Lally was stunned, never expecting Anna to say such things. She held back her grief, standing tall.

"When I was young, Tammy was kind to me. The entire Thompson family was good to me. Of course, I have to speak up! My misfortune isn't anyone's fault, unlike some people who..."

Anna rushed over and slapped Lally hard.

As she reached out again, her arm was caught, like a steel clamp gripping her, the intense pain like an electric shock.

"Tony, how dare you stop me!" Anna roared, "Tell me, how did you know about the insurance? I want you to tell me, did you kill my mom yourself?"