That final line—"Take care of yourself, Mr. Carter"—was a masterstroke of biting sarcasm. After all, if your only son is diagnosed with a terminal, contagious illness, that’s the sort of catastrophe that would shatter any family. At his age, Langston might end up burying his own child. What choice did he have but to "take care" and look on the bright side?
Langston clenched his fists in silent protest, furious yet utterly helpless.
Sheridan, meanwhile, erupted in rage. He unleashed a string of furious curses at Jamison, but when that failed to calm him, he grabbed Emma and started pummeling her like a punching bag. "You filthy whore! This is all your fault! You worthless bitch!"
Emma shrieked and tried to dodge the blows, fighting back as best she could. "And you think you’re any better? You were the one who brought home all those diseases! You forced me to entertain your sleazy clients! You’re all trash—every last one of you! You deserve to be infected, every single one of you should just drop dead!"
The fiercer Emma’s insults, the harder Sheridan hit her.
The whole scene made Langston want to tear his hair out. He shouted at them a few times, but when they ignored him, he finally stormed out, slamming the door behind him—out of sight, out of mind.
Sheridan, already weak from illness, soon tired himself out; his blows landed slower and slower.
Emma shot him a venomous glare, then, seizing her chance, lunged at him in retaliation. She unleashed months’ worth of anger, returning every blow with interest.
It was a spectacle—like two rabid dogs tearing into each other, all teeth and fury.
As soon as Jamison left the club, he called Carla.
"Has Micah been tested for HIV again?"
Carla’s voice was evasive. "He’s… been staying home lately. He hasn’t gone out, hasn’t gotten into any trouble."
Jamison’s temper flared. "What good does that do now? Emma is very likely infected. You need to take Micah back to the hospital and get him tested."
"What?" Carla gasped, panic rising in her voice. "Are you sure? Did Emma say so herself, or have you seen her medical report?"
Jamison didn’t answer the question directly. "Sheridan’s diagnosis is confirmed."
Carla let out a breath of relief. "But that doesn’t necessarily mean Emma was infected too, right? I heard their marriage was just for appearances. Sheridan’s been with other women, and Emma’s no fool—she knows how to protect herself."
She rambled on, trying to convince herself that maybe Sheridan caught it from someone else, and perhaps he and Emma hadn’t been intimate at all.
Jamison’s face darkened; he snapped, "Are you out of your mind? Do you really think ignoring this will make it go away? If the test comes back positive, you start treatment as soon as possible—extend his life, and reduce the risk of infecting the rest of you. What are you thinking?"
Carla broke down, sobbing. "Jamison… what am I supposed to do? He’s my only son… I raised him for over twenty years, and now this… If something happens to Micah, how am I supposed to go on?"
Despite his anger, Jamison’s expression softened at his sister’s heartbreak.
He didn’t know how to comfort her; in the end, he just said quietly, "Get the test first. We’ll deal with whatever comes next."
Carla was completely distraught, her regret pouring out between her sobs. "It’s all my fault. If only I’d listened to you and sent him abroad… We spoiled him, indulged him, and now we’ve ruined his whole life…"
Jamison gripped his phone tightly, turning to stare out the window. His face was set and somber, weighed down with worry.