I almost lost my soul from fear.
When I looked up, I saw that, at some point, Chelsea had gotten out of bed.
She was leaning against the window, with her upper body already hanging outside.
"Anthony!"
"Sis!" Zeke yelled out.
Their faces turned pale with fear as they quickly rushed over and pulled her back inside.
Meanwhile, I finally had a moment to catch my breath. Taking advantage of their distraction, I endured the pain and quietly slipped out of the room.
...
In the afternoon, my parents visited me at the hospital. When they found out I had likely seen the criminal, their expressions turned to disbelief.
"Why didn’t you tell the police who the criminal was? Why did you let Chelsea suffer? Are you even a man?"
Seeing the disappointment in their eyes, I turned my head away, unable to meet their gaze, and remained silent.
"To think I raised a son like you…" My father’s voice trembled with anger. "You’re nothing but a disgrace to me, Anthony!"
He then stormed out of the room. Meanwhile, my mother remained, but her attitude toward me was noticeably different from that moment on.
I didn’t try to explain myself.
...
The next morning, Zeke arrived early. This time, he didn’t beat or insult me like he had the day before.
Instead, it seemed like he had changed his approach.
"Anthony, you didn’t report to the police, right?" Zeke asked, his voice calm but with a hint of something unspoken.
I shook my head in response.
He let out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Yesterday, we acted out of emotion. But you have to understand, Chelsea is my sister. We love her more than anything. We can’t stand seeing her like this. You get that, right?"
I nodded slowly. "Yes, I do."
"Good." Zeke sat down beside my bed and lit a cigarette, his eyes not quite meeting mine. "You don’t mind, do you?"
"It’s fine," I said quickly, not wanting to make things worse.
He took a few deep drags, the smoke swirling around us, and then spoke again. "Last night, my sister’s mind cleared up a bit. She said she called you. You picked up, but didn’t say anything. Is that true?"
I let out a faint grunt. "Yes, it’s true."
Zeke’s brow furrowed deeper, frustration creeping into his voice. "Then why didn’t you tell the police?"
"I... I forgot."
Zeke leaned forward slightly, his voice growing more intense. "Did you hear her calling for help on the phone?"
"I did."
He pressed again, his tone sharp with urgency. "Then why didn’t you go to save her?"
"I was drunk at the time. I thought she was just joking with me."
"Asshole!" Zeke’s veins bulged in his neck as he glared at me, his fury palpable. "If you had believed her then, maybe she wouldn’t have been raped! You’re the reason this happened!"
I dropped my gaze. "You’re right. It’s my fault. I failed her."
"Since you admit you're at fault," Zeke snapped, "then don’t you dare bring up breaking off the engagement again. And once your injuries heal, go apologize to my parents in person."
"I’ll think about it," I muttered.
"Think about it? Does this even need to be thought about?" Zeke's control snapped, and for a moment, it looked like he was ready to strike again.
But just then, my phone rang.
I answered quickly, trying to steady myself. "Is it possible to retrieve the call recording?"
The voice on the other end responded, "It’s a bit tricky, but it should be possible."
"Alright. I’ll wait for your update."
After hanging up, Zeke frowned.
Then, he asked, “What call recording?”
I explained, "That night, Chelsea called me for help. I vaguely remember hearing a man’s voice, which sounded somewhat familiar, but I was drunk and didn’t have the call recording on. If I can get the recording from that night, and hear that man’s voice again, I should be able to identify who raped her."
Hearing this, Zeke’s expression immediately tightened.
"Can... can it be recovered?"
I looked at him and nodded. "My friend just told me that it should be possible."
