Episode 10
1222 Words
Unwanted Caring
Jane's POV
The next morning, Tuesday, I wake up with my phone still in my hand. I must have fallen asleep scrolling through it. The screen is still glowing a little, and I groan as I sit up slowly. My body feels heavy. I'm tired in a way that makes me wonder if I can even make it to work today.
Just as I'm thinking about calling in sick, my phone buzzes. It scares me. I frown and look at the screen. It's my mom. Again.
I wait before answering. She called yesterday, and I'm still thinking about that talk. But something about this feels different. When I pick up, I hear her crying and screaming.
"Jane! Jane!" she sobs.
"Mom? What's going on?" I ask. Now I'm wide awake.
"It's your father," she says between sobs. "He's been shot. This morning... someone broke into the house and shot him in the arm."
My chest gets tight. I don't know what to say. My father and I don't have the best relationship, but this... this is something I wouldn't wish on anyone.
"What?" I finally say. "Mom, is he okay?"
"He's in the hospital," she says, sniffling. "It's bad, Jane. He's asking to see you."
I freeze. My father wants to see me? The man who spent years telling me I was useless? The man who called me nothing compared to my brother?
"Jane," my mother begs. "Please. He... he really wants to see you. Please come."
After a long pause, I sigh. "What's the address?"
An hour later, I'm driving to the hospital. The car I bought isn't fancy. Just a small, reliable sedan. But it's mine. For the first time in years, I feel like I'm standing on my own two feet.
The drive gives me too much time to think. Memories I tried to bury start coming back.
Growing up in my family was always hard. We weren't poor, but my parents made it clear they only cared about success. To them, success means making a lot of money and bringing honor to the family name.
Paul, my older brother, was their golden child. He could do no wrong in their eyes. Even when I started working as a teacher and made more money than Paul, my father still found ways to put me down.
"You're nothing, Jane," he told me once, his voice cold. "You'll never be anything. Paul is the only real child I have."
Living with them was like living in hell. And now, after all these years, I'm going back. He's demanding to see me as if seeing me will make him feel better.
When I get to the hospital, I see my mother through the window of the room. She's sitting by my father's bedside. Paul is next to her, looking upset. I can feel the tension even from outside.
I take a deep breath and push the door open.
Paul is the first to see me. His face gets angry as he jumps up from his chair. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I was invited," I say, keeping my voice steady.
Paul moves toward me with his fists closed, but my mother quickly grabs his arm. "Paul, stop!" she says firmly.
Even my father, lying hurt in bed, raises his good hand weakly. "Paul, sit down. Enough."
Paul glares at me for a moment before storming out of the room. The door slams behind him, and I jump at the sound.
I stand there, frozen. The familiar feeling of not being wanted washes over me. My father's eyes meet mine. For a moment, I think he might say something nice. But he stays quiet, his face showing pain and tiredness.
My mother walks toward me carefully. "Jane," she says softly, reaching for my hand.
I pull away. "Don't," I say, my voice breaking.
Her eyes fill with tears. "I know we haven't been... the best family to you. I know we've hurt you. But please, Jane, we need you now."
"Need me?" I say, laughing bitterly. "You've never needed me before. Why start now?"
"Jane, please," she says, her voice shaking.
"Just stop pretending," I snap. "None of you have ever cared about me. Not you, not Dad, not Paul. You only ever cared about what I could give you. When I had nothing, you treated me like garbage. So just tell me why you really called me here. I have more important things to do than sit around being reminded how pathetic I am."
My father moves in bed, wincing as he sits up a little. His voice is weak but firm. "Jane," he says, "you're in danger."
I frown, confused. "Danger? What are you talking about?"
He looks at my mother before looking back at me. "I can't explain everything now, but you need to call Christian."
I stare at him, not believing what I'm hearing. "Call Christian? Are you joking? I'm not in any danger, and even if I was, he's the last person I'd call."
"Jane," my father says urgently, "this is serious. Call him. He'll explain everything to you."
I turn toward the door, shaking my head. "This is crazy. I'm leaving."
But just as I reach for the door handle, it opens. And there he is. Christian.
I freeze, staring at him in shock. "What are you doing here?" I demand.
Christian looks at me, his face showing nothing. "I was called," he says simply.
"Of course you were," I mutter, stepping aside to let him into the room.
"Christian," my father says, relief clear in his voice. "Thank God you're here."
I cross my arms and lean against the wall. "Someone better start explaining what's going on, because I'm not buying any of this."
Christian looks at me quickly before turning to my father. "What happened?"
My father waits, looking at my mother for support. "Someone broke into the house," he says finally. "They... they were looking for something. Or someone."
Christian's face gets dark. "Who?"
My father's eyes look toward me. "Jane."
I feel my stomach drop. "What?"
"They were asking about you," he says, his voice shaking. "They wanted to know where you were."
I shake my head, taking a step back. "This doesn't make any sense. Why would anyone be looking for me?"
"I don't know," my father admits. "But Christian might."
All eyes turn to him. I can see the tension in his jaw as he clenches it tight.
"Christian?" I ask, my voice sharp.
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he runs a hand through his hair. He looks like he's trying to figure something out.
"Jane," he says finally, his voice low, "I need you to trust me on this."
I laugh bitterly. "Trust you? That's the biggest joke I've heard today."
"Jane, this is serious," he says, stepping closer. "You're in real danger. This matter is more serious than you think."
I stare at him, my mind racing. None of this makes sense. But the look in his eyes tells me he's not lying.
"Fine," I say reluctantly. "But this better not be another one of your games."
"It's not," he says firmly. "I promise."
He sounds sure as I take a seat far away from them. Whatever they have to say better be true.
- Writer
