On this small bed, Fiona Bennett let her emotions flow freely. She absentmindedly flipped through the textbooks left behind by Gabriel Adams, reading the deeply affectionate stories written in the margins, losing herself in them, offering no resistance.

After a long while, she sat up and began to ponder her next move.

Matthew Mitchell’s appearance and the logical chain of him killing Gabriel Adams were already complete, but the motive for killing Susan Wright was still unclear. Besides, knowing who the murderer is and proving who the murderer is are two different things. In Fiona Bennett’s current situation, even having enough evidence might not be useful, let alone when there is none.

When it comes to finding evidence, the first step would naturally be to obtain a handwriting sample from Matthew Mitchell to compare with the murder letters. However, even if the handwriting matches, it would at most serve as supporting evidence; more direct proof would still be needed.

There was, however, another path. Since it was certain that Matthew Mitchell was the main culprit and the prime suspect in both Susan Wright and Gabriel Adams’s deaths, she could try to investigate his whereabouts on the night Gabriel Adams died, and look for information about his repeated cross-dressing visits to the Blue Bar and the rented apartment. Working backward from the outcome, there would surely be some clues to uncover.

Yet Fiona Bennett also understood that if she really did this, it would be extremely risky. She was a clumsy detective at best; even if she could find clues, it would be a bumpy road, full of detours and wasted effort. During this process, what were the chances she wouldn’t get caught by Frank Bishop? Vincent Parker would definitely tell Matthew Mitchell about today’s events, and perhaps Matthew Mitchell already knew. All the people involved would band together against her as quickly as possible. So, did she really have a chance?

At this point, Fiona Bennett was no longer afraid of taking risks; she was only afraid she wouldn’t make it to the end.

She had sought out William Williams as a companion precisely because of this worry. Now that William Williams had betrayed her, she had to find a new companion—someone who would never betray her. If she really found such a person, and they also believed in Matthew Mitchell’s guilt, then even going straight to the police would be possible.

However, she didn’t dare approach any of her classmates from the special training class. Besides classmates, who else would be willing to get involved in this case? It would have to be someone directly affected, like Mr. Adams or Mrs. Adams. But what were the chances she could win their trust? They probably already thought she was mentally ill.

That left only one person.

Adrian Wright.

William Williams had said that, regarding Susan Wright, Adrian Wright clearly knew more secrets. As a father, how much familial affection did he still have for his youngest daughter? Would he be willing to reopen old wounds in order to find the real culprit?

Fiona Bennett had no confidence.

All she could do was give it her all and try.

2

“Everyone says this is a miracle. But this miracle couldn’t have happened with just me alone.” After feeding Beatrice Collins her second liquid meal of the day, Adrian Wright as usual sat and chatted with her for a while.

“If you didn’t want to live, didn’t want to wake up, you probably would have left long ago.”

Adrian Wright believed that Beatrice Collins could hear him. Since his wife’s brain activity was higher than that of the average vegetative patient, she should still have some perception of the world, shouldn’t she?

Over the years, Adrian Wright had spoken more and more to his wife. With both daughters gone, he didn’t want Beatrice Collins to feel too lonely. If she felt too lonely, maybe she wouldn’t want to hold on any longer.

The doorbell rang.

The Wen family rarely had visitors. Was it a salesman? Adrian Wright closed the bedroom door, walked to the entrance, peered through the peephole, and then opened the door.

Standing outside was a young man in a leather jacket, his back slightly hunched, as if he maintained a humble posture at all times. He wore glasses, had arched brows and narrow eyes, and deep smile lines, suggesting he was someone who smiled often. At this moment, he was smiling as he bowed slightly to Adrian Wright.

“Who are you looking for?” Adrian Wright asked.

“You must be Uncle Wen. I’m here to see you.” The young man straightened up. “Sorry to drop by unannounced. My name is Matthew Mitchell, I’m your daughter’s classmate.”

“My daughter?”

“I was in the special training class at the medical school with your daughter Susan Wright. I’d like to talk to you about something. May I come in?”

Adrian Wright did not step aside to let him in.

“What is it?” he asked stiffly. As a father, he didn’t have much affection for his second daughter, and a college classmate suddenly showing up struck him as trouble.

“You really are…” Matthew Mitchell chuckled.

Usually, when he laughed like this, people would feel embarrassed for being impolite. But Adrian Wright was not one of them.

“I have to go to work now, and I don’t have time. If it’s not urgent, let’s arrange another time.”

“You’re heading out to drive, right? Sorry to hold you up from your business. But since I’m already here, I’d say I’m your friend too.”

Adrian Wright’s face darkened, without any attempt to hide it.

“We haven’t met before, have we?” he said.

“We haven’t, but we’re online friends. We’ve messaged each other quite a bit on blogs.”

Adrian Wright was taken aback, his expression softening.

“You are…?”

“The Wanderer.”

“Oh, oh!” Adrian Wright smiled sheepishly. “So it’s you! How did you know I lived here? Come in, come in.”

It had been years since Adrian Wright had smiled like this.

His whole life revolved around Beatrice Collins in the inner room, and only things related to her could truly move him. He never imagined that his second daughter’s college classmate was actually the person online who had encouraged him to share his story and helped him organize the entire fundraising campaign.

Originally, Adrian Wright had only shared knowledge and case studies about vegetative patients on his blog, as well as his own caregiving experiences, to connect with other families in similar situations. Until one day, a user named “The Wanderer” first donated a thousand yuan to him, then encouraged him to share his full story, and even wrote an article from a third-person perspective, spreading it across various forums. Thousands of people learned about Adrian Wright’s story—a father who had lost two daughters, a husband who had kept vigil for twenty-five years, a man whose perseverance had withstood repeated blows from fate. The article was titled “If Fate Is Wrong, What Can We Do?” At the end, The Wanderer initiated a donation drive and personally donated another thousand yuan. After that, small donations began to trickle in, gradually accumulating into a river. By now, with The Wanderer’s continued promotion, the donations had surpassed two hundred thousand yuan.

It could be said that The Wanderer was Adrian Wright’s benefactor. Adrian Wright had often wondered why The Wanderer kept helping him again and again. Having driven a taxi for decades, he saw people come and go every day, barely having time to savor the warmth or coldness of human relationships. Suddenly, a beam of sunlight shone directly on him, so intense that he wasn’t used to it.

Now, with The Wanderer standing before him, Adrian Wright realized that the stranger he thought he’d never met actually had such a deep connection to him.

Adrian Wright invited Matthew Mitchell to sit in the living room, made tea, and of course, no longer mentioned going out to work. He expressed his gratitude again, chatted a bit about vegetative patient treatment—the topic they usually discussed online—and then waited for Matthew Mitchell to state his purpose.

“To be honest, the reason I noticed your story was actually because of Susan Wright.”

Adrian Wright nodded. If it weren’t for Susan Wright, it would have been too much of a coincidence.

“I came today with a rather presumptuous request.” When Matthew Mitchell spoke earlier, he had kept his eyes lowered, his gaze respectful and proper. Now, he looked up and met Adrian Wright’s eyes. The gentleness in his gaze suddenly took on a different quality.

“Please, go ahead.”

“There’s a woman named Fiona Bennett who may come to see you soon. When she does, please hand her over to me.”

“What do you mean? Who is this person, and why would she come to see me?” Adrian Wright was completely confused.

“She’s a classmate of Susan Wright, and of course, also my classmate. She believes there’s more to Susan Wright’s death and is investigating it. Honestly, do you want to reinvestigate the cause of Susan Wright’s death?”

Adrian Wright frowned. He didn’t like Matthew Mitchell staring at him so directly, and he disliked being asked such abrupt and unpleasant questions even more.

But he kept his own mental ledger and knew that “The Wanderer” was here to collect a debt, so he reluctantly replied, “Both my daughters have been gone for a long time. Now, my world is just my wife.”

Matthew Mitchell smiled. “I knew you’d feel that way. If she comes, please keep her here and give me a call.”

“I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and I don’t want to get involved. If this Fiona Bennett you mentioned comes to see me, I’ll just tell her all my energy is devoted to caring for my wife, and I can’t deal with anything else. As for handing her over to you or calling you, same answer: all my energy is on my wife, I can’t deal with anything else.”

Matthew Mitchell smiled again. This time, his smile seemed less restrained, like a hunter watching with interest as his prey fell into a trap.