She immediately averted her gaze, frantically helping Jose to his feet. "Hans, hold on a moment. I'll call an ambulance," she said.
That woman's back was thin, her legs trembling wildly as she carried the heavy load. Even so, she never considered abandoning Jose.
I clenched the fragments of the tombstone in my palm tightly.
As my consciousness faded, I seemed to see my mom and dad smiling at me with understanding. "Hans, Mom and Dad don't blame you."
But I couldn't forgive myself.
When I woke up again, I saw a clean white ceiling. Phoebe was sitting by the hospital bed, her face utterly pale, with large dark circles under her eyes.
The moment she saw me open my eyes, she happily squeezed my hand. "Hans, does your body still hurt?"
I painfully removed the needle from the back of my hand, forcing myself to sit up and kneeling at Phoebe's feet. "I'm sorry, Madam, I didn't take good care of myself. I can go home now. Mr. Levine and the baby need me."
Phoebe tenderly stroked my reopened, bleeding wound, her fingers trembling uncontrollably. When she reached out in despair, I instinctively covered my head.
"Hans, how did you become like this?" she sobbed.
I lowered my eyes and remained silent.