Before she forgot

EPISODE FOUR

As Emilia settled into the passenger seat, she couldn't help but glance around.

The interior was nothing like any taxi she had ever ridden in. The leather seats were smooth and soft, carrying the faint scent of expensive cologne. A polished wooden trim lined the doors, and the dashboard gleamed with neatly arranged controls and a high-tech navigation screen. Even the floor mats looked custom-made — spotless, refined, clearly never touched by anything ordinary.

Her eyes found the emblem on the steering wheel. It was a brand she had only ever seen in magazines. She pressed her lips together and looked away.

This is not the car of an ordinary man.

The ride was quiet. When they pulled up in front of her apartment building, Emilia stepped out into the bright wash of the streetlights. The young man watched from the driver's seat, and for the first time, the light revealed her clearly — her tired face, her delicate features, the quiet dignity she carried despite the exhaustion.

She's beautiful, he thought. He hadn't noticed the dim light of the car.

Emilia turned and held out his coat. "Thank you," she said softly, offering a small smile. "For everything."

He said nothing. He only watched as she turned and walked toward the building entrance, disappearing through the door.

The Next Morning

Emilia stood at the mirror longer than usual.

Her eyes were puffy, the evidence of too little sleep impossible to hide. She sighed, dabbed on light makeup as carefully as she could manage, and left for work — her mind already drifting back to the man lying in the hospital bed.

I'll visit him after work, she told herself.

Livingston Company

Emilia slipped into her seat quietly, shoulders slightly slouched. The fluorescent lights felt harsher than usual against her tired eyes.

She had barely opened her laptop when Maya's voice broke the silence.

"Rough night?"

Emilia glanced up. Maya was watching her over the edge of her screen, head tilted with gentle curiosity.

"Something like that," Emilia murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"You look like you barely slept," Maya said.

"I'll be fine." Emilia turned back to her computer, forcing a small smile.

A few hours passed before Maya's voice came again. "Lunchtime. Come on."

Emilia blinked at her watch, surprised. She closed her laptop and muttered under her breath, "Thank God. I'm starving." She hadn't managed much of a breakfast that morning — exhaustion had taken the appetite right out of her.

At the cafeteria, Emilia pushed her food around distractedly. Maya set down her fork and raised a brow.

"Okay, what's wrong? You've been somewhere else since morning."

Emilia looked at her plate for a moment. Then, too tired to keep it bottled up, she told her everything — the late-night ride for medicine, the damaged car in the road, the man slumped over the steering wheel, the long hours at the hospital.

Maya's expression softened. "That's terrible," she said quietly. "So what are you going to do now?"

"I'll stop by after work," Emilia said. "If he's awake, maybe he can give me a family contact."

Maya nodded slowly. "That's the best thing you can do."

That Evening — The Hospital

Emilia arrived with a bag of food she had picked up on the way. She set it gently on the bedside table, pulled a chair close, and sat down.

He was still unconscious. Lying motionless beneath the thin blanket, his chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths. Something stirred in Emilia's chest as she looked at him — a feeling she couldn't quite name. Pity, maybe. Or something older and more personal than that.

Why do I care this much? She wondered. He's a stranger.

But she already knew the answer.

She had lost her father to a hit-and-run accident. She remembered standing on the pavement, helpless, watching strangers carry him into an ambulance. She had always wondered — if someone had reached him sooner, stayed with him, kept him from feeling alone in those last moments — would it have made a difference?

The thought surfaced now, quiet and familiar and painful. Tears slid down her cheeks before she could stop them. She wiped them away quickly, then rested her head against the edge of the bed.

Exhaustion pulled her under before she could fight it.

She stirred when something brushed against her arm.

Emilia blinked awake slowly, disoriented. Then her eyes focused.

The man's hand had moved.

"Sir?" She sat up quickly. "Are you awake?"

His eyelids fluttered. The dim light blurred his vision, but after a few slow seconds, her face came into focus. He opened his mouth and a hoarse sound came out — barely a word.

"Don't strain yourself," Emilia said quickly. She reached for the water bottle on the table and helped him take a small sip.

As he drank, the fog began to lift. Fragments came back in pieces — the argument with his son, the reckless drive home, the crash, the darkness — and then this girl, appearing out of nowhere, staying.

"Sir," Emilia said carefully, "Do you have any family I can contact? A number I could call?"

The man's expression shifted. A faint hardness crossed his face. "No need," he said, his voice crackly and low.

Emilia hesitated. "Okay," she said softly. She reached for the bag of food instead. "Then at least eat something first." She helped him sit up and placed the meal in his lap.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"It's a little cold now, but please eat."

He picked up the food and ate slowly. Every so often, his eyes moved to her — watching the way she fussed over the water bottle, straightened the blanket without being asked, hovered with the quiet attentiveness of someone who genuinely cared.

I've found the perfect daughter-in-law, he thought to himself, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.

When he finished, Emilia rose to her feet. "I should go now. I need to rest before work tomorrow."

"Now?" He looked at her, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "Can't you stay a little longer?"

"I'll be back tomorrow after work," she said gently. "I promise."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, "Where do you work?"

"Livingston Company."

He looked at her with renewed interest. "And your name?"

"Emilia. Emilia Smith."

He studied her for a long moment, then smiled — small and genuine. "Come see me tomorrow. Four o'clock. I'll give you five hundred dollars."

Emilia shook her head immediately. "I can't accept that, sir. I have only just started this job. But I'll visit — I promise."

He chuckled softly. The sound was warm, amused by her sincerity in a way that seemed to catch even him off guard.

"Alright, Emilia," he said. "But enough of this 'sir.' Call me Dad — if you're comfortable with that."

Emilia blinked at him. The word sat in the air between them, unexpected and strangely tender.

Slowly, her lips curved into a smile. "Okay... Dad." She picked up her bag. "See you at four."