My Husband's Legacy

The red light of the ICU glowed at the end of the corridor, each flash wrenching my heart with pain. I sat on the cold bench, my fingers clutching the scarf my husband Draco Perry had worn this morning, still faintly warm from when he was lifted onto the ambulance, now cold as ice. Draco's mother Wendy paced back and forth beside me, the clicking of her high heels on the tiles striking my nerves like a relentless drum. "What's going on at this hospital? They've been trying to resuscitate him for so long with no progress. Could it be that..." She suddenly stopped mid-sentence, hastily covering her mouth, repeatedly whispering, "He'll be fine; my son is unbreakable." And Draco's father Jacob stood by the window, his back to us, his hands gripping the window frame so tightly his knuckles turned white, yet he still turned to comfort his wife: "Don't jump to conclusions. The doctor said they're doing everything they can—just wait a little longer." But the panic in his voice was impossible to conceal. At that moment, footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor, slowly approaching us. I looked up and saw a man in a dark suit. He walked straight up to me, stopped, his gaze sweeping over my face before glancing at Jacob and Wendy. "Are you Natalie Evans?" His voice was rigid, as if it came from a machine, devoid of any warmth. I nodded, a sudden sense of foreboding rising in my chest. He pushed the folder toward me, and the word "Will" on the cover made my eyes blur. "I am Draco Perry's appointed lawyer, Troy Gordon. This is the will he made before his death, which I now must read aloud to everyone." The words "before his death" pierced my heart like a knife sharpened with ice. Wendy suddenly rushed forward, reaching to snatch the folder. "What do you mean 'before his death'? My son is still lying inside! Are you in the wrong place? Or are you deliberately wishing him dead?" Troy stepped aside, ignoring her agitation. "I, Draco Perry, hereby voluntarily donate all my property, including the villa in the eastern part of the city, my bank account deposits, and 30% of the shares in the Perry Group, to Mandy James." He read each word with deliberate emphasis, every single one striking my heart like small stones, painfully. Jacob turned around sharply, frowning deeply, raising his voice several tones: "Mandy James? Who is that? Since when did Draco have such a friend?" I took a deep breath, digging my nails into my palm, barely managing to keep my voice steady: "She is Draco's assistant, has been with him for three years, and goes to work with him every day." That sentence exploded like a bomb in the hallway, and Wendy's sobs erupted instantly. She lunged forward and grabbed my arm, her nails nearly digging into my flesh: "Natalie, what did you say? How could he leave the inheritance to an assistant? Are you sure the documents aren't mixed up? You need to tell the lawyer immediately—it must be a mistake!" I looked into her bloodshot eyes which are filled with panic and disbelief. But in my mind, there was only desolation; not even the slightest wave of sorrow stirred. Draco's father Jacob stepped forward and pulled Wendy aside, his voice heavy with fatigue: "Don't get upset. Let's find out exactly why Draco would do this." Troy closed the folder and pushed up his glasses: "Mr. Perry was of sound mind when making the will, with a notary present; the documents are without issue." At that moment, the ICU door suddenly opened. A doctor in green surgical scrubs stepped out, removed his mask; sweat beaded at his temple, his expression grave and chilling. He quickly approached us, his tone urgent: "The patient's intracranial hemorrhage has worsened and requires immediate craniotomy. The success rate is only thirty percent; you must sign the surgery consent form immediately—any delay will be too late." Wendy's crying abruptly stopped. Grasping Jacob's arm, she whispered, "Thirty percent... isn't that too risky? What if the surgery fails..." Jacob said nothing, only stared at the doctor, his lips moving slightly but no words coming out, clearly uncertain about what to decide. The doctor handed me the surgery consent form, pointing the pen toward me: "Ms. Evans, you are Draco Perry's wife; the authority to sign rests with you. Don't hesitate—the patient's condition cannot wait." I reached out to take the pen, a calmness washing over me—so calm that even I was surprised. Wendy came over, grabbing my hand and pleading, "Natalie, just sign it. Even if there's only a thirty percent chance, we have to try! He's your husband; you can't just stand by and let him die!" Jacob nodded along: "Yes, Natalie, think it over again. What if it succeeds? We can live well from now on." The air around seemed to freeze; all eyes were on me—some filled with hope, others with panic, and Troy's eyes were utterly unreadable. I lowered my gaze to the consent form, then met the doctor's eyes and said slowly and clearly, "I refuse resuscitation."