Never Be Apart

CHAPTER 18

The next day, we woke up early because we planned to visit Mom first, and then follow Mr. Santos around.

Just the thought of him getting arrested already makes me so happy. I can't believe we're finally getting closer to getting justice for my dad.

We were all set when Ashden showed up out of nowhere. We didn't expect him to come, so of course, we were surprised.

He brought some food and was dressed to go out too. Looks like he's tagging along again. I don't know why, but I trust him already. I thought of telling him what we knew, so I quietly invited him to talk.

We went to the study room, just like we did when we met with Aki's godfather. Ashden was shocked at first but then said he already suspected that Dad's rival in the election was behind the murder.

He said he'd come with us, which we all agreed to right away. He even stopped going to school and told us not to worry because he could catch up with his lessons later.

Yunji started going to school too, with one of our bodyguards dropping him off and picking him up. Our Aunt and Uncle also arrived—they're my dad's siblings, and I called them yesterday. They said they'd handle everything for Yunji and even take care of Dad's case, but they don't know we're secretly investigating on our own.

I still have the footage copies, and I haven't told our lawyer about it. We're trying to figure out if he's one of Mr. Santos's people. It's hard to trust anyone right now, especially since our opponent has a lot of connections.

After eating, I said goodbye to Yunji, and we all got into my Aunt's car, with her driver taking us around the day. She trusted us, so she let us go.

When we got to the hospital, I went straight to the ICU. My mom is still there, and there's no change in her condition. It breaks my heart because we really need her right now, especially Yunji.

I gazed at Mom, peacefully asleep, for a long time. I'm the only one allowed to visit her, as the nurses at SMH have strict rules about visitors.

"I promise I'll get you the justice you deserve, Mom," I whispered before turning to rejoin my friends.

In the car, we engaged in a serious discussion about how to track down Mr. Santos. He's still out there, living freely, and the frustration gnawed at me because there's no suspect identified yet.

The mystery surrounding my dad's death looms over us like a dark cloud, and no one seems to have any answers about who killed him or who orchestrated it all. My friends are acutely aware of how deeply I yearn to expose the truth, yet they continually urge me to slow down. They warn me that rushing into this could lead to disastrous consequences, potentially costing me everything I hold dear. They insist that given my age—just seventeen—no one would take my claims seriously.