As Arielle recalled, the Wilhelms would bring her and Henry for medical checkups every year. The checkups, however, were always only physical, never psychological.
It might be true that she, like Trisha, could have a little mental disability.
It seemed like it was about time she consulted a psychologist.
Arielle's deep-rooted frustration evaporated instantly after she convinced herself that she was suffering from a mental disorder.
Night was drawing in slowly.
A thick blanket of darkness covered the earth. While the stars and the moon hung high in the sky, Rocher Private Hospital was illuminated as brightly as day.
In an emergency room.
“Adrenaline, stat!”
“Get more blood from the blood bank!”
“Platelet count is dropping!”
“It's no use. We need Queenie here. You, page Dr.
Mill right now.”
“Yes, Dr. Ziegler.”
The situation in the emergency room was disastrous.
Half an hour ago, Malorie unexpectedly fell unconscious and was rushed to the hospital's emergency room.
On top of being anxious, Henrick was unable to sit still. He paced back and forth in front of the emergency room entrance. Smoking cigarettes as he paced, stick after stick, the ashes rained down and covered the floor.
At that precise moment, the emergency room's door opened.
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