Chapter 59: What I was fighting for

>Mallory"Specialized school?" I repeated, my voice quieter this time, just to make sure I hadn’t heard him wrong.

For a moment, my mind froze. A specialized school... If that was really true, then maybe—just maybe—it could help my son. I had tried searching for something similar before, spending countless nights scrolling through websites and forums, asking doctors and counselors. But there were barely any schools willing to take children with cases like his. Most of them either rejected us outright or demanded conditions I could never meet.

"That’s right," he said calmly. "You may have never heard of it, but our hospital has its own specialized school. It’s designed for patients who have experienced complex trauma and emotional or behavioral difficulties."

As he spoke, he closed the file in his hands with a soft sound. Then he turned his body slightly, facing me directly. His expression was gentle. His voice professional, and steady—too steady, if I was being honest.

"We only offer it to VVIP customers or to those who receive special recommendations," he continued. "That’s why it isn’t well known. Still, many clients actively seek to enroll their children there."

He smiled lightly as he reached out, lifting my hand and holding it between both of his. His grip wasn’t tight, but it was warm, reassuring in a way that made my chest ache.

I swallowed hard.

If what he said was true, then this school could help my son catch up with his studies. It could give him a safe place, people who understood him, teachers who wouldn’t look at him like he was broken.

But at the same time, guilt crept into my heart.

I felt terrible relying on my husband’s connections again—especially when none of this was written in the contract. I was always the one receiving. Always the one being helped.

Why was I never the one giving?

"T-then... about the tuition," I started, my voice hesitant. The words felt heavy on my tongue.

"Oh, you don’t need to worry about that," he replied smoothly, cutting me off before I could finish. "I own the hospital, so you won’t have to pay."

I stiffened.

"I would feel bad..." I murmured, my voice trailing off as I lowered my gaze.

"Well," he said, tapping a finger against his chin as if thinking, "one quarter costs about a million dollars, if I remember correctly."

My jaw dropped.

A million dollars.

For three months?

My mind immediately started calculating, numbers flashing one after another. Even if I worked myself to the bone, even if I saved every single cent, there was no way I could earn that much on my own.

Not in years.

"Anyway," he said lightly, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb, "I want you to think about it."

He glanced at his watch and stood up. "I should get going now. I still have another client to meet."

He brushed his pants, dusting off imaginary dirt, then turned toward the door. I hurriedly stood up as well, bowing slightly out of habit.

"I-I see. Thank you for your time," I said.

We walked together in silence toward the entrance. The quiet felt thick, pressing down on my chest. Every step echoed faintly through the hallway.

"You don’t have to walk me all the way," he said, stopping near the door. He reached for the latch and turned to face me.

"And I know I’ve already said this," he continued, his voice suddenly serious, "but nothing good will come if you fall for my brother."

His tone softened at the end, turning into a gentle smile. Then he pulled the door open and stepped outside.

The door closed with a soft thud.

I stood there for a long moment, my hand pressed against my chest.

Why did something always feel off whenever he said things like that?

It didn’t sound like a simple reminder. It felt more like a warning.o my ear.

"Hey," I whispered. "Why haven’t you called for so long?"

"Did you miss me?" she laughed on the other end.

I clicked my tongue. This girl—making me worry while she sounded like she was having the time of her life.

"Never," I replied sarcastically.

"That’s too bad. I missed you so much," she said.

Her words sounded strange. Slurred.

My brows furrowed.

"Are you drunk?"