That night, the white wall lamps cast a bright glow along the hospital's first-floor corridor.
Two on-duty nurses, glancing towards the end of the hallway, whispered to each other. "What are they arguing about? The resuscitation room light went off half an hour ago, but they're still making a fuss."
"Probably about inheritance," one suggested.
"No way," the other replied, her voice trailing off as someone emerged from the resuscitation room.
The newcomer stood out in her simple attire: a shirt, jeans, and canvas shoes. She slowly lifted her head, her eyes red from crying, and addressed the arguing group. "Could you at least arrange my grandfather's funeral before discussing these matters? Have you no shame?"
A resounding slap cut through the air, silencing the corridor.
All eyes turned to the scene as a shrill, contemptuous voice berated the young woman. "Who do you think you are? You have no right to speak here."
The silence shattered as a new wave of commotion erupted.
"She's just an orphan Mr. Coleman picked up off the streets. She really thinks she's his princess."
"Exactly. The man's dead, and she's still putting on this act of filial piety. If you ask me, she's just angling for a share of the inheritance."
Amelia Coleman had braced herself for this. Speaking up now was bound to make her a target for their frustrations. With her grandfather gone, the only person in the Coleman family who had supported and protected her was no longer around. They had tolerated her before out of respect for him, but now, without his presence, they struck without hesitation.
The spot where she'd been hit burned, and she tasted blood in her mouth. Amelia unclenched her fist and discreetly pinched her thigh.
"Please," Amelia implored, her voice trembling. "Stop arguing here. My grandfather valued his reputation and loved peace and quiet."
Her words were swallowed by the clamor of bickering voices.
Someone sneered, "Begging us? Is that how you beg?"
Tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them back. As insults continued to rain down, Amelia swept her gaze across the crowd and slowly sank to her knees on the corridor floor.
"Please," she repeated softly.
A chill swept through the corridor, momentarily silencing the group.
After a few seconds, someone glanced at Amelia with disdain before walking away. "Kneeling to the living instead of the dead. How unlucky."
This remark seemed to affect the others. Muttering complaints under their breath, they began to disperse, heading towards the hospital exit.
Amelia remained kneeling until half the corridor lights suddenly switched off, jolting her back to awareness. She realized everyone had left. With a mix of relief and delayed grief, she leaned against the wall to slowly stand up.
Clinging to the wall for support, she was overwhelmed by a rush of fear and sorrow. Desperate for comfort, Amelia fumbled for her phone and dialed a number she knew by heart.
The call connected, but no one answered. Were they still busy at this hour?
Hesitantly, she tried a second number.
This time, the call connected in less than ten seconds.
The tears she had been holding back burst forth, flowing uncontrollably. Between choked sobs, Amelia could barely speak. "Oliver, Grandpa's gone. I don't have a grandfather anymore. What should I do? They... they're so cruel. They even hit me. I'm so scared, so scared..."
Her words gradually dissolved into stifled sobs.
"It's me," came a familiar, gentle female voice from the other end of the line.
The unexpected response jolted Amelia back to her senses.
