Daniel did not write anymore, and Moe, concerned about him, hoped for a resolution that involved only a minor reprimand on his record, sparing him from more severe consequences. The only person who genuinely cared about him shouldn't have to face significant repercussions. After a week, Moe decided to send a neutral text, "Hey, how's it going?" He received an immediate response, "All good, the sky has cleared up," and Moe breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed that Daniel had managed to avoid any major issues, allowing them both to breathe more freely.

A month later, as Moe indulged in guava, accompanied by the occasional hiccups of Miny, who was mirroring his antics, he received an unexpected call from an unfamiliar number with the US country code. Assuming it was Daniel, he playfully answered, stretching out in a nasal Singaporean accent, “Hello-la-la-a-a.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hayes,” Einer said with resonance, and Moe immediately halted the hiccups, closing his mouth in sheer astonishment. “This is Einer Simmons, one of the victims in the Bio-Retina case, and I'd like to discuss reopening the case to investigate the deaths of my family and yours,” Einar paused, concerned, and then added, “Are you here?”

“Yes, I am listening,” Moe replied, his voice dropping to a chesty contralto.

“I understand such memories must be painful - the FBI informed me of your reluctance to participate in further investigations, but I urge you to reconsider - yes, you'll have to revisit difficult moments, but you might recollect crucial details that escaped you a few years ago. I propose a hypno-session to reconstruct the picture in intricate detail. What do you think?”

“I'm not interested,” Moe grumbled discontentedly, suppressing the involuntary stirrings that arose at the sound of the familiar voice. “This investigation won't bring my family back, and I'll be putting myself, my-" Moe tensed and continued, “My partner and our child at risk. Find other witnesses; if I recall correctly, there were plenty of them.”

“All of them had indirect connections to the case and had already been reintegrated into the process, undergoing hypno-sessions. You, like me and my little brother, had a much closer and stronger connection to the deceased, so there may be many nuances in your memory that were not considered in the first round of the investigation,” Einer's voice became firmer, more insistent, and Moe clenched his lips together in frustration.

"I don't know why the hell you can't understand a simple 'no, mister” Moe, trying not to deviate from his usual tone, kept his voice low but continued to vent quickly, struggling to contain his irritation. “I, for heaven's sake, closed that chapter; this world cannot be fixed by killing all its sickos! And I want to live in peace! Do you understand?!”

“I see,” Einer responded calmly, appearing somewhat taken aback by Moe's vehement outburst. “You're quite direct, aren't you? That's an interesting way to put it- why the hell…”

“Yeah, why the hell? Why on earth? Why the fuck? Get it?” Moe practically growled.

"Okay, sorry to disturb you," Einar murmured softly, and Moe nodded to himself in satisfaction, “I'm done with that jerk.”

“Apology accepted. Don't bother me again. Ciao!” and ended the call, exhaling a sigh of relief as the storm subsided.

Despite diligently and joyfully preparing for the imminent birth, Moe continued to keep an eye on developments, reading the occasional news reports about the case and sighing reassuringly - nothing critical had surfaced, only brief updates that the case had been reopened and was under investigation with the involvement of the police and the FBI.

The case was ongoing and that seemed fine. Einer realized that Moe Hayes had no interest in dealing with him, so he stopped calling—hallelujah! That jerk was just causing unnecessary stress for the child. Let him invest his time and energy in a pointless vendetta that wouldn't change anything anyway. His opponents were likely hiding in the shadows, throwing the minor ones to the wolves, much like Einer threw Moe, but none of that mattered.

The main focus was on Miny slowly getting ready to enter the world, and the rest could take a flying leap—Moe didn't care.

Moe's concerns were centered around more important things- whether to hire a maid, follow the local postnatal care traditions and arrange for urut, opt for a sling or a stroller, choose between co-sleeping or introducing a separate cradle... The list of priorities was extensive, and each held incredible significance, relegating trivial matters like Einar Simmons and his vendetta to the background.

Two weeks before the due date, Moe awoke with a pulling pain in his lower abdomen, startled to the point of shivers. He hastily called for a cab, grabbed the pre-prepared bag, all the while bombarding the recruitment agent's phone to inquire about the arrival time of the chosen maid. As he hurried to the door, he berated himself, realizing he needed to call the clinic immediately—priorities, you fool! The maid could wait.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

He dialed Dr. Lee's number, pressed the phone to his ear, secured it with his shoulder, and hastily unlocked the door, blurting out, “Hello, Dr. Lee! I'm having stomach pain! No, there haven't been any discharges! I'm on my way!” and let go of the phone, opening the door. There, with his hand poised over the doorbell, stood a visibly paling Einer, flanked by his bodyguards.

“Moe...”

“Get out!” Moe yanked the door in a fearful attempt to slam it shut, but the reacting Einer swiftly wedged his foot in, shifting his dazed gaze from Moe's face to his stomach, his jaw dropping.

“Moe, you...”

“Help!” Moe bellowed at the top of his lungs, cradling his stony stomach protectively. “I'm being attacked! Call the police!”

"Moe, there's no need to fear... Oh God, Moe!" Einar extended his hands toward him, then pulled back, stumbling backward. "Moe, I'm so relieved!"

Doors on the floor opened, and neighbors poured out shouting loudly. Einar quickly composed himself, facing the indignant crowd, many of whom had their phones ready.

"I apologize for the trouble. I arrived unannounced and startled my... partner."

"Aah," Moe hissed as a stony belly erupted with pain. "Don't listen to him; I don’t know him! Back off, Simmons!" Moe bent down to pick up his phone and bag and groaned as another pain twisted through his stomach.

"Let's figure out who we are later," Einar suggested nervously, picking up the phone and signaling to the bodyguard to grab the bag. "Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"Fuck no, to the beach!" Moe shouted fiercely, folding in half. "Give me the phone back, you asshole!"

"My car's waiting downstairs; I'll take you," Einar gave back the phone, backing out of the way. "Please, Moe, let me help you."

"You already did, jerk!" Moe slammed the door shut in frustration and staggered to the elevator, trying to breathe deeply and evenly as he'd been taught.

Once downstairs, Moe stubbornly got into a cab, snapping his fingers- the bodyguard rushed to the cab and put his bag in the back seat. Moe turned in the cab and pressed his lips together fiercely as Einar and his entourage piled into the two cars and followed him.

Einer had once again invaded his life.

A matter-of-fact statement.

Moe scowled with bitter hatred—anger, the initial stage of acceptance.

His bodyguards promptly encircled him in the clinic lobby, and Einer wordlessly took the bag from his hand, gazing at him with avid, stress-filled eyes.

Moe, conserving his energy for a later confrontation, snorted menacingly and proceeded to the doctor's office—fuck him, he would deal with Einer later; first, he needed to understand what was happening with Miny.

Dr. Lee, exchanging brief greetings, palpated his abdomen, assisted in removing his shorts and underwear, seated him on the examination chair, peering into the most private of places, and carefully inserted the dilator—Moe hissed at the unpleasant cold sensation. The doctor conducted the examination, took the ultrasound probe, covered it with medical gel, and guided it over his belly while the apprehensive Moe awaited the prognosis.

“The baby is perfectly fine, Mr. Hayes. You're dilated two fingers, so I suggest you stay in the clinic.”

“Am I in labor?” Moe's voice quivered - he seemed mentally prepared, but as it turned out, not quite.

“Yes, Mr. Hayes, but don't worry. Let's review the birth plan, confirm it again, and then you'll be moved to your room,” Dr. Lee removed his gloves, helped Moe down, handed him a hospital gown, and Moe, still trembling, began to change.

Moe was guided out of the room in a wheelchair, gripping his bag tightly, swallowing nervously, and casting fearful, round-eyed glances ahead. As Einer hastily rose from his seat, Moe told him, “Go fuck yourself.”

As the initial wave of stress began to subside, allowing him to see earlier unnoticed details in his fear and evaluate the situation more rationally, Moe observed Einer from a side view- the right side of his face displayed jagged redness, marked by distinct lines of taut stitches—it appeared as though Einer had undergone a skin graft. The hands, twitching nervously, bore signs of disfigurement from the fire, covered in swathes of burnt skin, and the fingers were also red, exhibiting clear lines of stitches. Moe concluded that the skin on Einer's fingers had been grafted to preserve his motor skills, as without it, Einer wouldn't have been able to grasp anything.

In the end, he had indeed suffered in a fire, but what fire was it?

Moe glanced up at Einar with confusion, and Einar let out a disbelieving exhale.

"You're alive, Moe. I'm so happy."

"I'm not," Moe interrupted. "Get out of my life, you piece of shit"

"I'm sorry, please," Einar recoiled as if struck and spoke rapidly, a pleading expression on his face. "You were supposed to be followed by a task force, you weren't supposed to get into trouble, but something unforeseen happened—there were two traitors in the group, they killed my men, so..."

"You left me for dead," Moe interrupted impatiently. "You saw my battered face, heard my plea, and left me to die."

"I—" Einar covered his eyes for a moment and repeated dejectedly, "I'm sorry, Moe."

"Fuck you," Moe gripped the doorway, preventing himself from rolling away. Turning to the nurse, clearly impressed by their exchange, he stated, "Don't let that asshole in. He's a murderer, so please alert security."

"Will do, Mr. Hayes," the nurse recoiled from the gloomy Einer, pulling a phone from his pocket, dialing a number, and shouting loudly, "Security, second floor!"

"I'm leaving, Moe, but I'll be back," Einer turned to leave. "May everything go well."

"Shove your wishes up your ass," Moe recommended caustically and let go of the doorway, allowing himself to be rolled.