The Blair family had gone so far as to build a state-of-the-art medical suite at home, just to make sure Patricia could get care whenever she needed it. Inside, the room gleamed with equipment that looked like it belonged in some futuristic hospital.
“Charlotte.”
Andrew was already waiting at the door, anxiety all over his face. The second she appeared, he rushed over. “Shirley’s fever won’t go down. The doctors are stumped.”
“If it keeps up, she could suffer brain damage.”
“Do you have any acupuncture needles?” Charlotte’s voice was low and steady, her brows pinched in worry. “Find some for me. You have five minutes.”
“Got it.”
Andrew didn’t hesitate. He spun around and headed inside without looking back, his face tight with panic.
Charlotte gave him a quick nod. “Let’s go.”
She started toward the patient room, moving with purpose.
But before she got far, Dorothy seemed to materialize out of thin air, blocking her path.
“Why did Andrew drag you two out here so late?” Dorothy flashed a smile, but it was empty, chilly. “It’s just a fever—nothing serious. Andrew’s being dramatic as usual.”
“Are you done?”
Charlotte stopped, slightly turning her head, her gaze frosty. “Because if you’re finished, I’d like to get by.”
“You’re still pregnant. Don’t overexert yourself,” Dorothy insisted, standing firm. “There are more than enough doctors in there to handle this. You really don’t need to get involved.”
“Charlotte, just go back with her and rest. Seriously.”
Charlotte didn’t bother listening. She brushed right past Dorothy, all business.
“You...”

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