Chapter 5: Too Late to Save Him

The police station was silent after Felix's confession.

My father sat alone in the waiting area, staring at the floor.

My mother stood beside the window, completely motionless.

Neither of them had spoken since Felix was taken away.

For years, Felix had been the center of their world.

Now that the truth was exposed...

They didn't know what to do with themselves.

An investigator entered carrying a thick medical file.

"Mr. and Mrs. Goodman," he said.

"There's something you need to see."

My mother slowly looked up.

"What is it?"

"Sean's emergency records."

She immediately shook her head.

"We've already been told he couldn't be saved."

"That's not exactly what the records show."

The investigator placed the file on the table.

"According to the emergency physician's report, Sean arrived with a ruptured heart and severe internal bleeding."

"He was critically injured, but his condition was considered surgically treatable."

My mother's face turned pale.

"Surgically treatable?"

"Yes."

"If he had reached the operating room immediately, doctors estimated a significant chance of survival."

Silence.

My father slowly lifted his eyes.

"How long did he wait?"

The investigator looked at the report.

"Thirty-eight minutes."

My mother's lips began to tremble.

"Thirty-eight..."

"Minutes?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

The investigator looked directly at her.

"Because the available surgical team was assigned to Felix."

My mother closed her eyes.

The words she had spoken to me returned to her.

"Can't you stop fighting for attention for once?"

For the first time, she understood what those words had truly meant.

Her son had been bleeding to death.

He had begged for help.

And she had thought he was pretending.

She gripped the edge of the table.

"No..."

My father covered his face with both hands.

"We could have saved him."

The investigator remained silent.

"According to the nurses' statements," he continued,

"Sean repeatedly asked for his mother."

"He believed she would save him."

My mother's body shook.

"Stop," she whispered.

"Please stop."

But the investigator wasn't finished.

"He also told one nurse something else."

"What?"

"He said he wasn't angry that Felix received the scholarship."

"He said he only wanted his parents to be proud of both sons."

My mother broke down.

She sank into the nearest chair and covered her face.

"I never knew."

"I never knew he felt that way."

My father's voice cracked.

"We never asked."

"We only assumed."

My soul stood nearby, watching them cry.

Part of me wanted to scream.

"You never asked because you never wanted to know."

For years, I had tried to tell them.

They had simply never listened.

The investigator opened another document.

"There's one more issue."

My father looked up.

"What now?"

"The hospital director is under investigation."

My mother froze.

"Me?"

"Yes."

"You abused your authority by redirecting emergency resources toward a patient who had minor injuries while another patient was critically unstable."

"Your decisions directly contributed to the delay in Sean's surgery."

"I didn't know he was dying," she whispered.

"The medical team warned you repeatedly," the investigator replied.

My mother stared at the floor.

She couldn't deny it.

The nurses had warned her.

The doctor had warned her.

I had warned her myself.

She had simply refused to believe me.

The hospital board suspended her pending investigation.

Within hours, news of the tragedy spread through the city.

Headlines appeared everywhere.

"Hospital Director Faces Investigation After Son's Death."

"Emergency Surgery Delayed While Minor Injury Was Prioritized."

"Goodman Family Accident Under Police Investigation."

The public demanded answers.

Inside the Goodman family home, everything had changed.

The house that once echoed with Felix's laughter was silent.

My mother's office had been sealed.

My father's business partners stopped calling.

And the room that had once belonged to me remained untouched.

My father entered it again that evening.

He sat at my desk.

A small framed photograph rested beside the lamp.

It showed me receiving an academic award.

My father picked it up.

"I remember this day," he whispered.

"You looked so proud."

He laughed bitterly.

"And I barely noticed."

My soul stood beside him.

I wanted to tell him that I had noticed.

I had noticed every time he looked away.

Every time he praised Felix first.

Every time he compared us.

Every time he told me to be more understanding.

But now none of it mattered.

My father opened the closet.

Inside was the suit I had worn to my last scholarship interview.

He held it against his chest.

"You should have been the one leaving this house with a future."

"Not like this."

He collapsed onto the floor.

His cries echoed through my room.

My mother remained downstairs.

She couldn't bring herself to enter my bedroom.

Every time she looked toward the staircase, she remembered the last phone call.

"Sean Goodman, when are you going to crawl out of bed?"

She had laughed at my pain.

Now she understood that she had been speaking to a dying son.

She suddenly grabbed her phone and dialed my number.

The call went nowhere.

She dialed again.

And again.

No one answered.

"Sean," she whispered.

"Please answer me."

Her voice broke.

"I'm sorry."

"Please just give me one chance to tell you I'm sorry."

Silence answered her.

She threw the phone onto the table and screamed.

"Why didn't you tell me you were really dying?"

My soul stood beside her.

The answer was painfully simple.

I had.

She just hadn't listened.

That night, my mother couldn't sleep.

She replayed every moment from the accident.

The moment the doctors told her Sean needed emergency surgery.

The moment she dismissed their warning.

The moment she walked away with Felix's medical team.

The moment the nurse begged her to come.

And finally...

The moment she learned her son was dead.

For the first time in her life, she understood the weight of her own choice.

She had chosen one son over another.

And the son she abandoned was the one who had always loved her.

But grief could not rewrite time.

Regret could not restart a heart.

And no apology could reach the son she had allowed to die.