This regret had nothing to do with lingering feelings from the past. It was simply the sorrow of seeing a young life slip away far too soon.

It was late, and the hospital was hushed, the halls of the inpatient wing echoing with silence. But in the private VIP ward, chaos had erupted.

When Carla learned her son had died, she was inconsolable. She rushed to the hospital in a panic, and after hearing what had happened, she immediately turned her fury on Farley Shepherd.

“Who gave you the right to decide whether my son lives or dies? Even if he’s stuck in a coma for the rest of his life, I’d still take care of him! It’s not like you were the one looking after him anyway, so what gives you the right to give up on his treatment?”

“And the doctor–why didn’t you consult me about something this serious? Who told you to make such a decision on your own? Were you bribed by him? I’ll sue you all!”

Farley Shepherd had steeled himself for this. When Carla, wild with grief, screamed and hurled accusations like a madwoman, he felt nothing–not even a twinge of guilt.

“Carla, snap out of it! We couldn’t save Micah. He had AIDS, his immune system was already shot. For months, he’s been in and out of infections, slipping through death’s fingers again and again. Did you ever ask him if he wanted to be kept alive like this? Do you have any idea how much he suffered just to stay here?”

“If he could come back from the brink, it means he wanted to live! He didn’t want to die! How dare you give up on him? This is abandonment!”

“I’m done arguing with you. You wouldn’t let go because you didn’t want to feel guilty, so you forced him to keep suffering in humiliation. I couldn’t watch anymore! I’m his father–his legal guardian. I have every right to end his pain and stop his treatment!”

Farley’s words dripped with righteous concern, but his real intention was to paint Carla as selfish and cruel.

Their argument was going nowhere when Jamison and Ivy arrived.

As soon as Farley saw his wife’s family, he flinched, instinctively stepping back as a memory flashed–a broken nose courtesy of Jamison’s fist.

Ivy’s brow was furrowed, her eyes swimming with grief and anger. Seeing her husband’s face cloud over, his gaze sharp and dangerous, she instinctively grabbed his arm. She wasn’t trying to stop him from avenging his nephew, but she worried that, in his rage, he might do something reckless–something that would land him in trouble with the law and make everything worse.

After all, Micah was Farley’s own son. As his father and legal guardian, he had the right to decide whether to continue treatment. Legally, there was nothing wrong with what he’d done.

If Jamison threw the first punch, he’d be the one in the wrong. And if Farley decided to press charges, the trouble would never end.

“Calm down. Think about Mom’s health. You can’t afford to get in any more trouble,” Ivy whispered, feeling the tremor in Jamison’s tense arm as she tried to soothe him.

The reminder finally got through Jamison’s haze of anger. He remembered their ailing mother, still in the hospital, and forced himself to take a breath.

“Jamison, you’re just in time. Look into that doctor–I’m sure Farley paid him off!” Carla turned to her brother, tears streaming down her face, pleading with him.

“I’ll get to the bottom of it,” Jamison said, voice steady. Then he asked, “Have you seen Micah yet?”

“Micah…” Carla murmured, only then realizing she hadn’t even set foot in her son’s room.

Jamison could tell from her reaction. He leaned in and said quietly, “Go see Micah first. We can worry about everything else later.”

Farley wasn’t going anywhere, after all.

Wiping her tears, Carla staggered to the half–open door and flung herself into the hospital room.

The white sheet was already drawn over Micah’s body.

Carla collapsed over her son, sobbing until she was on the verge of passing out.

Ivy followed Jamison into the room.

A nurse stood by the bed, and when Jamison entered, she nodded respectfully and explained quietly, “Dr. Ludwig, the patient went into acute heart failure tonight, which led to severe pulmonary edema. We were ready to start ECMO, but his family asked us to stop treatment and signed the consent forms. It wasn’t our decision not to resuscitate.”

ECMO–extracorporeal membrane oxygenation–was a last resort procedure, a machine that took over the work of the heart and lungs when they failed. But even with this expensive technology, all it could do was delay the inevitable–unless a matching organ donor could be found in time.

But for Micah, even that slim hope was out of reach. He was far too weak for such an invasive surgery.

Jamison believed the doctor. Everyone at the hospital knew who Micah was. There was no way any of them would risk their careers over this.

The real question was why Micah had crashed so suddenly tonight. That, Jamison suspected, had something to do with Farley’s late–night visit. But without proof, it was all speculation.

He nodded and gestured for the staff to leave.

Once they were alone–just the three of them–Jamison gently pulled Carla up, his voice heavy. “Say your goodbyes, Carla. The funeral home will be here soon. We need to start preparing for the arrangements.”

The dead don’t come back. No matter how much it hurt, the living had to keep going.

Now that his anger had cooled, Jamison recalled Farley’s words. As much as he hated to admit it, there was truth in them.

Micah had been kept alive for months by every medical intervention possible, unable to wake up or even know what was happening around him. Maybe, if he’d had a choice–if he’d been conscious–he would have wished for release, too.

But Jamison’s words only set Carla off again. She shoved her brother’s hand away and threw herself over her son, screaming, “No! No one is taking Micah! He’s not dead! He’s just sleeping, like he always does! He’s just sleeping!”