"Hu! Ha!"
Holly Crowe suddenly opened her eyes, her chest heaving violently, gasping for breath.
Her eyelids felt heavy, and after a brief mont of clarity, she fell back into confusion.
The air was filled with a faint scent of disinfectant, mixed with a trace of osmanthus fragrance.
She was in a hospital.
A dull pain throbbed in her head.
Her mind lingered on the mory of Mia Chapelle frantically driving the car into the river.
The massive impact, the splendid fireworks, the icy river water.
Later, did Blake Sinclair arrive?
He jumped down and grabbed her...
Was it him?
Was everything in the dream just now that missing mory?
She thought hazily as hurried footsteps approached her ears.
The doctor shone a flashlight in her eyes and used a stethoscope to listen to her chest.
Half awake, half asleep, she struggled to process the past.
She rembered it all.
Rembered eting at Port Kallow when she was five, the boy who secretly walked but was afraid of being discovered, rembered the Mutton Fat Jade Button he gave her, rembered his promise to co back before school started to teach her to write her na.
And also rembered being kidnapped when she couldn’t wait for him, then t with an accident, followed by a high fever and amnesia.
It turned out that the forgotten mory had been sealed by her own brain.
Her subconscious chose to forget, to avoid that piercing pain.
But what about Blake Sinclair?
Did he know all along that she had lost her mory?
Was he afraid that she would rember those things from the past and resent him for not keeping his promise, so he hid it ti and again, even denying his past with Shannon Yarrow?
But it can’t be denied, he chose to deceive her again.
Tears silently slipped down, leaving a small wet mark on the pillow.
Her heart felt blocked, stifling her breath.
It turns out those inexplicable familiarities, those monts of excitent, weren’t for nothing, but because they had t long ago.
Fate’s seed was planted many years ago.
It’s just that this seed was forgotten for too long, so long that when it sprouted again, it ca with scars all over.
Her consciousness gradually blurred, and she fell back into darkness.
This ti, there was no icy river water, no suffocating pain, only a gentle darkness, like being back in her mother’s embrace.
When she woke up again, she felt a warm touch on her hand; soone was holding her hand tightly.
Holly Crowe slowly opened her eyes to see Director Lennon using a cotton swab dipped in warm water to moisten her lips.
Under the light, Director Lennon’s hair seed to have turned a few more shades white, with deeper wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and heavier dark circles under her eyes.
Seeing her open her eyes, Director Lennon’s eyes instantly reddened, and the cotton swab in her hand trembled slightly.
Holly looked at her weathered face, her throat so dry she couldn’t make a sound, only managing to tug her lips to shape the word "Mom."
Tears welled up again, this ti not because of Blake Sinclair.
That year, after she was rescued from the river, her high fever persisted. Director Lennon and Teacher Crowe stayed by her bedside day and night, administering herbal dicine for more than half a month to pull her back from death’s door.
That profound family bond intertwined with her childhood mory, making her emotions even more complex.
"Water..." she finally whispered out.
Director Lennon quickly poured a cup of warm water, feeding her small sips through a straw.
The doctor soon ca in to examine her.
"Doing well, don’t worry, you’re recovering nicely."
Director Lennon breathed a sigh of relief, while Teacher Crowe’s eyes turned red, and he ran outside to buy her porridge.
Director Lennon raised the bed so she could sit more comfortably.
Holly looked out at the dark night sky beyond the hospital room, "Mom, how long have I been asleep?"
"Three days."
Director Lennon held her hand, his voice full of lingering fear.
Holly felt a bit dazed.
Three days.
She had unknowingly had three days stolen from her.
How many things happened in those three days?
Just as she was about to ask sothing, Teacher Crowe returned with a thermos.
The porridge was millet porridge, cooked to a soft consistency.
Holly didn’t have much appetite but, seeing the worried look in their eyes, forced herself to eat half a bowl.
As she put down the spoon, dizziness struck again.
She fell into a deep sleep again, in a drowsy state, hearing young Sinclair’s worried voice, "Celia Stiles, when will Auntie wake up? Will she also sleep as long as Uncle?"
"She won’t, Shirley, be good. Auntie is just very tired; she’s sleeping. Let’s not disturb her, okay?"
Celia’s voice was gentle as she gently patted Shirley’s head, "Why don’t you go back with this nice brother and find Mom, okay?"
Another male voice sounded, clear and pleasant, but with a hint of cynicism, "Why do I have to take her back to find Mom? Am I your pet dog, at your beck and call?"
"Don’t talk nonsense! This is a hospital; keep it down!"
Celia glared at him, lowering her voice, "President Sinclair hasn’t woken up yet, and Laurel is busy with company matters. What’s wrong with you taking her?"
"Fine! I’ll let it go this ti, but next ti I’ll demand compensation. Really, such a heartless young boss."
The sound of adult and child footsteps gradually faded, restoring silence to the room.
When Holly woke up this ti, her mind was noticeably clearer, and she no longer needed an IV.
Seeing her awake, Celia imdiately ca over, "Senior, how are you feeling?"
Holly smiled at her, indicating she was okay.
It was several days before she could barely get out of bed.
To avoid any potential concussion relapse, the doctor conservatively suggested she stay for further observation.
She used her new phone’s cara to check her face; there was a faint scar on her right cheek, nearly scabbing over.
Her forehead was still bandaged.
She sighed softly.
Celia poured her a glass of warm water, comforting her, "The doctor said the wound isn’t deep. With proper care, there won’t be any scaring, don’t worry."
Holly nodded and set the phone down.
A scar was nothing compared to life itself.
In that situation, surviving was already a blessing.
"How’s Mia?"
"She’s seriously injured, still in the ICU. The doctors say she may never wake up."
Holly’s heart sank.
Celia talked about what happened that day later on.
Actually, Daniel Alden didn’t abandon Mia Chapelle. That day he left, it was to go back ho to borrow money from relatives, intending to take Mia abroad for reconstructive surgery.
But Mia misunderstood him.
Holly remained silent.
Misunderstanding, another misunderstanding.
If Mia had given Daniel a bit more trust, would they still have ended up here?
Celia looked at Holly, "Blake Sinclair didn’t hesitate to jump after you that day. When the rescue team pulled you out, he held your hand tightly, refusing to let go, until the doctors dragged you both into the ergency room, they had to force his fingers open."
Holly listened, her eyes involuntarily tearing up.
It had only happened a short while ago, yet it seed like ages had passed.
These days, she deliberately avoided thinking about him, neither Director Lennon nor Teacher Crowe brought him up again.
But only she knew that person, that na, had long etched itself in her heart, inseparable.
"He...."
Holly’s voice trembled a bit, "How is he?"
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