The words of the nurse were like a slap to his face, causing him to instantly lose all strength, his tightly held pen slipping from his grasp and falling to the ground.
In that moment, a sense of desolation slowly spread from the depths of his heart, like a chemical experiment of diffusion, as a drop of ink trickled into a colorless, pure water, gradually turning the glass black.
The nurse picked up the critical notification form and prepared to leave, warning Harry not to approach the operating room door or disturb the doctors inside, as he couldn’t bear the consequences.
In the past, Harry, full of arrogance, might have thought he wasn’t responsible for anything, given his status and wealth. But now, with Hattie involved, it was as if his life was at stake.
Harry stood in front of the operating room door, and soon after the nurse left, she returned, laden with guilt, thinking that if she had been braver and rushed in upon hearing the unusual sounds, this situation might have been avoided.
Leaning against the wall three meters away from Harry, the corridor was so quiet that she could hear the slightly heavy breaths of the man.
She glanced at the man, his head lowered, shoulders trembling ever so slightly.
The nurse felt no sympathy for Harry; it was his actions that had led to this situation. How dare he cry here?
As the saying goes, tears shed by scoundrels are worthless.
In the time it took to shed those tears, why hadn’t he thought carefully before?
After pondering, the nurse silently repeated to herself three times: Harry is trash.
…
Hattie had just finished delivery, but due to intense stimulation, she experienced severe uterine bleeding. After signing the consent form for surgery, the doctors began preparing for the operation. Everything seemed fine, but during the latter stages, the bleeding couldn’t be stopped.
Normally, with anesthesia, one would only feel pressure but no pain, yet Hattie felt excruciating pain.
In her past life as a doctor, she had been in countless operating rooms, performing numerous surgeries on others.
Never had she imagined that it would be her lying on the operating table, awaiting the doctor’s scalpel.
For the first time, she felt the coldness of the operating room, its lights so bright, amidst the haze, she even saw her long-deceased parents.
The surgery lasted 120 minutes, with several doctors sweating profusely by the end.
The critical period was not over yet; it all depended on when Hattie would wake up and whether any complications arose.
As soon as the operating room door opened, Harry rushed in first, the smell of disinfectant clinging to the doctors’ bodies.
“Hattie… Hattie, she…” His anxiety rendered his words incomprehensible, his throat feeling as though stuffed with cotton, unable to speak or swallow the discomfort.
The doctor’s gaze towards Harry was complex, yet he honestly informed Harry of the current situation. The surgery, for now, was successful, but the critical period had not passed yet. Hattie’s awakening was crucial; if she didn’t wake up, the situation would be dire.
Hattie was transferred to the adjacent observation room, with a nurse watching her twenty-four hours a day. Harry stood at the bedside, gazing at Hattie’s face.
He lifted his hand to gently touch Hattie’s forehead, his fingertips trembling slightly. Hattie now seemed as fragile as a delicate doll, on the verge of breaking at the slightest touch.
Harry and Hattie were like two beasts locked in battle, constantly hurting each other. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, with no end in sight.
Since the day Harry forced Hattie, their dynamic had changed forever. There was no possibility of peaceful coexistence.
In terms of personality, Harry and Hattie were quite similar – both proud and unwilling to yield, even if they fell into mud.
Harry knew Hattie’s temperament too well, which was why he sought to oppress her, to hear her beg, to break her pride. Only in bed, would Hattie show weakness.
There were too many barriers between them: two families, two children’s lives, a raft of injuries. Harry was adept at problem-solving, yet seeing Hattie lying in bed unresponsive, he had to admit his helplessness. He couldn’t fathom how he and Hattie could reconcile, especially since there had never been a good time between them.
Tucking the blanket snugly around Hattie, Harry couldn’t resist the urge to adjust it, using the opportunity to inch closer to her.
Hattie had been unconscious for eight hours, and the longer it was, the more fearful Harry became. It was fine during the day, but come nightfall, fear consumed him, feeling like a mass of piercing needles on his skin.
From daytime to nighttime and into dawn, the nurse arrived as usual, checking on Hattie in her room.
Harry had gone without sleep for two consecutive days and nights, reaching the pinnacle of exhaustion. His eyes were dry and gritty, and although he yearned for rest, every time he closed his eyes, images of Hattie bleeding flooded his mind, preventing any peace. His head throbbed with pain.
As soon as the nurse arrived, he found something to distract himself.
“Will Hattie feel pain when she wakes up?”
The nurse thought it was a pointless question. Glancing at the medication bottle, she noted the painkillers inside, though they only provided relief, not complete numbness.
“Stab yourself in the stomach a few times, and you’ll know whether it hurts,” the nurse retorted, unwilling to indulge Harry, yet couldn’t resist a couple of sarcastic remarks at his pitiful state.
Seeing his tormented expression, what did he have to be in pain about? Could it compare to Miss Mason’s pain?
In this vast world, with all its wonders, consider the whitewashing of a scoundrel: all he had experienced was a miscarriage and prison, while she suffered heartbreak.
After hearing the nurse’s words, Harry’s expression stiffened. Already pale, he sat on the stool, his upper body swaying, on the brink of collapse, like a terminally ill patient about to keel over.
Looking at the nurse in her hospital uniform, still youthful with a hint of innocence on her face, exuding impatience as she addressed him.
It reminded him of Hattie; she too carried a similar air, sharp-tongued and straightforward, like a blade.
The nurse avoided being alone with Harry, mostly standing at the door, observing the medical equipment in the room and monitoring Hattie’s condition.
By midday, an assistant brought food and delivered a message to Harry.
Fiona had been arrested by the police, detained by a cop named “Max,” who was still at the station.
“When was she arrested?” Harry asked.
“Yesterday.”
“Why are you telling me just now?”
“Your phone was off,” she replied.