Thank you so much for your support! Let the angst really begin! ;)


Neither John nor Clara got much sleep that night. Both were too upset to get enough rest and occupied by what they had said to the other. They knew they should have been a lot more patient with one another, but it was too late for that now.

Clara was the first to rise that morning. She felt exhausted, despite getting a few hours of sleep and not to mention hungry. Besides, today was the day she would be meeting Danny, and hopefully for the last time.

She had also made the decision to confront her estranged father-in-law. She wanted answers and she would get them. By hook or by crook.

Slowly, the author sat up before checking the time on the bedside table. 6:47. John was probably up by now, but he's probably still in the bedroom.

Half an hour later, she was sitting at the table, munching on a piece of toast and waiting for her husband to come downstairs.

As she was about to finish her meal, Clara heard footsteps coming from the staircase and a moment later, John entered the kitchen.

To say that he looked tired would be an understatement. There were bags under his eyes, his shirt wasn't properly tucked in and his silver curls looked messier than usual.

They locked eyes briefly before he silently took a seat next to her and reached for the coffee mug. The surgeon had only managed to get three hours of sleep. He kept tossing and turning, despite being in his own bed. He had plenty of time to think about their argument the previous night and it led him to the decision of visiting his father in the ICU unit. Only him. He doesn't want to introduce his family to such a man.

"Are we still going to have lunch after work?" John mumbled, holding the mug to his mouth.

Clara glanced at him. "I've been thinking a lot last night," she began.

"So have I," he added, looking straight at her.

"I'm sorry for overreacting… I've just been feeling crossed a lot lately."

No doubt it has something to do with her mood swings. One moment she was happy, the next thing he knew was that his wife was feeling upset or complaining she was getting fat, which something he did not agree with. He kept trying to tell her she's as gorgeous as ever, if not more so, but she shrugged it off.

"Me too, I'm sorry for yelling," he said and grasped her hand.

Clara squeezed his hand. "The only way we can stop this is by confronting your father."

Her husband arched a brow. "What are you suggesting?" he asked. "I don't want him near my family – I'll go and see him if that's what you want."

"John," she began, but he cut her off.

"I love you so much, Clara and our son, too," he murmured. "But I'm not letting him get near you or the baby."

John finished his breakfast and stood up.

"And that's final."

"Maybe he's changed-"

The surgeon shook his head. "I doubt that – we're done," he said, freeing his hand from his wife's grip.

It would seem that they wouldn't be having lunch together, after all, much to Clara's dismay.


Dr John Smith was still in a bit of a foul mood by the time he reached the hospital. Things certainly didn't improve when one of his patients refused to take her medication and started throwing a bit of a fit, which required her to be sedated.

He would be free of work in just an hour. All he had to do was make sure things were running smoothly.

As the surgeon was about to step into his office, someone called his name.

"John!"

Dr Wilfred Mott.

"Wilf," he acknowledged before stepping inside.

The two have been good friends since the day John started working at the hospital. Wilf had been kind enough to show him around the hospital on the first day, helping him familiarise with the place.

"What can I help you with?" John asked calmly, plopping on the swivelling chair.

His colleague did the same before clearing his throat. "I'm sure you remember the man from yesterday," he began softly. "I'll get straight to the point – one of his arteries was clogged."

John nodded, a sudden coldness in his eyes which Wilf had never seen before.

"His heart is already in a bad shape, but the next best thing to do is obviously graft surgery," he continued explaining and then paused. "Jeremy woke up earlier this morning."

John knew exactly where the conversation was steering. Wilf had clearly figured it out. Why else would he start explaining the state of the patient?

"He's asking for you – he's asking for his son."

When Wilf didn't get a single response, except for the cold eyes, the cardiologist sighed. "I may not know much about your past, John, but I would take the time to speak to him."

A moment later, John nodded, eyes now looking at his desk. "Thank you, Wilf… thank you."

He stood up before placing a hand on John's shoulder. "He's in 812A," he stated. "And if you think you should be the one performing the surgery, please let me know."

"When is it?"

"Next Thursday."

Without another word, Wilf left the office, leaving John alone with his thoughts.

Clara is right, and so is Wilfred. He would eventually have to confront his father at some point, so he might as well get it over with. What intrigued him, however, was how his father got to this point.

John was convinced that the old man was leading a happy and care-free life away from the family he abandoned until now, that is.

Silently, he planted his feet on the ground and headed for the door.

No less than five minutes later, John Smith was staring at another door. There was a sign plastered on it, which said '812A'. The surgeon took a deep breath before pulling down the door handle and entering the room.

Jeremy Smith was lying in bed, eyes closed, and there was a monitor next to him which showed the steady rhythm of his heartbeats. His skin was paler than John had remembered, and he looked sick, almost as if he was dying.

Not wanting to wake his father up, he sat down in the empty armchair next to the bed, staring at the old man.

Suddenly, Jeremy started coughing before his eyes flickered. "John…" he mumbled, blinking several times.

His son stood still, face devoid of any emotion.

"When did you get here?" Jeremy asked weakly.

"Just now," John replied coldly.

Jeremy stared at his only child. "I know I've made a lot of mistakes in the past-"

"If you're here to bring that up, I'm leaving," the younger Smith growled.

"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to suggest that… I… the reason I wanted to see you that day was because I wanted to apologise... I've been wanting to see you for a while now..."

It's a little too late for that.

"Apologising isn't going to make up for or erase your past actions."

Jeremy coughed again. "I know you won't forgive me, but I still want to apologise," he sighed. "I've been a terrible father and husband to you and your mother, and I regret that… I was blinded by my ego and temper… I didn't know that I had everything until it was too late."

John's features softened for only a brief second.

"But enough about me... how are you, by the way?" his father asked. "You're married now, aren't you – do I have grandchildren?"

"What makes you think I'm going to allow you back into my life?" he asked through gritted teeth before standing up.

"John, please… I was just trying-"

"You never cared about me or mum, and now that you're lying in a hospital bed, you expect things to change?"

Jeremy looked down in shame. "I was young at that time, I was reckless and didn't think of others."

"Just like now," his son hissed.

He never got to finish his sentence as his son stormed out of the room, shutting the door a bit too roughly and causing Jeremy to flinch.

He sighed, closing his eyes. This was not how he imagined the conversation would end. He just wanted to talk to his son.


Clara Smith checked her watch for the umpteenth time that day. She had no idea what possessed her to come to the café early, but it was probably for the best. She could come up with the excuse that she needed to be someplace else and it is true.

The author had planned to go straight to the hospital after the meeting to convince John to talk to his father and make sure he doesn't lose his temper. It was the only way to end this ridiculous fight between them.

"I hope you didn't have to wait for long," a voice said from behind.

Clara turned around. Danny was dressed in a pair of black slacks, complimented by a white shirt. He certainly looked better than the last time they had met.

"Please, you don't have to get up," he insisted and took the seat on the other end of the table.

Danny Pink had been very grateful when Clara had borrowed him some money and for her help with the job as a school teacher. He would have probably ended up being homeless if it wasn't for her and he wanted to repay her kindness.

The last time he had seen her was about four months ago. The bump wasn't visible all that much then, but it certainly is now. "So, um, how are you?" he asked nervously.

"I'm fine, Danny," she replied, forcing a smile before she remembered the previous day. "Just had another ultrasound yesterday and the baby's a boy."

Now it was the former soldier's turn to fake a smile. As much as he is happy for Clara, he regretted taking her for granted. Here she is now, pregnant with someone else's child. "You must be thrilled."

The former school teacher caressed her swollen belly. "I am," she murmured before her features became serious. "Look, Danny, I know you're grateful for what I did, but I really can't stay for lunch."

"Please," he pleaded. "I feel bad for troubling you, just let me make it up to you."

Danny then placed a hand on top of hers. "As friends," he said. "We're here as friends, having lunch together and catching up."

Clara pulled her hand away before sensing a pair of eyes staring at her. She glanced to her right and locked eyes with her husband. There was a look which she couldn't quite comprehend in his eyes.

Danny glanced in the same direction and pressed his lips together.

Nobody moved, as if they were frozen in time until John spun around and walked out of the café.

Clara was the second person to react as she immediately got on her feet, chasing after her spouse.

"Clara," Danny began.

"No," she hissed before sighing and closing her eyes for a brief second. "I have to go."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Forget about it," she said before leaving the café.

Just when things were slowly getting better, it went back downhill.