CHAPTER 61: CHAPTER 61: THE HANDKERCHIEF

"Let me go in and stay with her, please. She’s still little, she’s only four."

Jean Ellison clung tightly to the nurse’s arm, pleading and crying out.

"The operating room is a sterile area; family members can’t go in. Wait outside." The nurse forcibly pried her hand away.

Jean slid down against the cold elevator door, sitting on the ground, the icy tiles sending a biting chill through her thin pants.

Her whole body trembled like a sieve, tears streamed down, yet she couldn’t make any sound, only suppressed sobbing in her throat.

Jesse’s bluish face, the last violent convulsion, the frenzied lines on the heart monitor...

These images flashed repeatedly before her eyes like a nightmare.

She didn’t know where the gurney had been taken, didn’t know how her daughter was now.

Has Director Thorne arrived?

What should she do?

She didn’t know how long it had been, maybe only a few minutes, maybe a long time.

A nurse dressed in green surgical isolation clothing hurriedly ran over from the nearby corridor, holding several sheets of paper.

"Family of Jesse Ellison, where is Mrs. Jean Ellison?"

The nurse’s voice was urgent.

"It’s me, it’s me."

Jean raised her head desperately like grabbing onto a life-saving straw, rushing to the nurse’s front.

"How is my daughter? How is she?"

"The situation is extremely critical, Director Thorne is already prepared in the operating room, surgery needs to happen immediately."

The nurse spoke rapidly, pressing the documents and pen into Jean’s hands.

"This is the surgical consent form and the critical condition notice, sign quickly, every second counts."

Jean’s hand trembled so much she couldn’t hold the pen. She couldn’t make out the black words on the white paper in front of her.

Critical condition notice...

"Where... where do I sign?"

Her voice was shattered, thick with sobs.

The nurse quickly pointed to the signature column.

"Here, quickly."

Jean summoned all her strength, controlling her violently shaking fingers, almost instinctively scribbling her name in those cold spots.

After signing the last character, she was almost spent.

The nurse grabbed the document and turned to run.

The red light above the door suddenly lit up, piercing her eyes with the three cold words.

In surgery.

Jean staggered back a few steps, her back crashing heavily against the icy wall.

She slowly slid to the floor, curling up her body, hugging her knees tightly, burying her face deep into them.

Her shoulders shook violently, tears were uncontrollable.

Amidst this boundless despair and tear-blurred eyes, she seemed to sense a gaze.

Very distant, very vague.

She instinctively looked up, her tear-blurred vision struggling through the relatively dim spot at the corridor’s end.

In the shadow of the stairway corner, there seemed to stand a tall figure.

Wearing a dark suit, the posture upright.

The light was too dim, the distance too far, her vision blurred with tears.

She couldn’t see the person’s face clearly, only a cold, blurry outline.

Is it... him?

Justin Holden?

This thought absurdly flickered through Jean’s chaotic mind.

How could he possibly be here?

Samual Pryce clearly said he went abroad.

Also, what reason would he have to be here?

She must have mistaken because of tear-filled eyes, or it was a hallucination from excessive shock.

Jean blinked forcefully, trying to see more clearly.

Tears rolled down, her view cleared a bit for a moment.

The figure seemed to move slightly, partially hiding deeper into the stairway shadows, leaving an even blurrier outline.

It’s a hallucination.

It must be a hallucination.

Jean dejectedly dropped her head, burying her face back into her knees, too distracted by her surroundings.

At the corridor’s end, in the stairway shadows.

Justin Holden leaned against the cold fire door, not knowing why he was here.

Today is Jesse’s surgery date.

These matters shouldn’t concern him.

He’s merely a lawyer.

His work was completed the moment he got that custody judgment.

He should be at the company dealing with the mountain of cross-border acquisition case files, or at a private club conducting necessary business negotiations.

Not standing outside a children’s hospital operating room filled with disinfectant and the air of despair.

He heard Jean’s heart-wrenching cry, saw her desolate figure, saw her slide down in front of the elevator door like a broken rag doll, saw her trembling as she signed the critical condition notice with tears of collapse.

He ought to have turned and left coldly, yet his feet didn’t move.

Right then, Jean tried to stand up, leaning against the wall, her head hurt at the moment of rising.

The world spun in her eyes, her ears buzzed.

Her body uncontrollably tilted to one side, about to hit the cold metal armrest of the nearby chair.

A firm and strong hand, steadily held her shoulder, fingertips slightly cool, while the other hand quickly cushioned between her forehead and the metal armrest.

Jean looked up, her tear-blurred vision meeting a pair of deep and unfathomable eyes.

Justin Holden stood in her shadow, slightly leaning forward, his tall figure blocking part of the glaring corridor lights.

He wore a dark gray suit, casually draped with a coat of the same tone, collar slightly open, revealing the crisp white shirt underneath.

His face was almost indifferent calm, thin lips tight, jawline cold and hard.

In his deep eyes, her tear-streaked face clearly reflected.

"Justin..."

Jean’s voice was hoarse and fragmented, filled with intense disbelief.

She even doubted if she was hallucinating from excessive grief and lack of oxygen.

Isn’t he... supposed to be abroad?

Samual Pryce clearly said... How could he be here?

Justin didn’t immediately answer.

His hand holding her shoulder did not instantly loosen, the slight warmth from his palm dispelling part of the dizziness.

He lowered his gaze, briefly pausing on her pale, bloodless face, then sweeping over the red marks on her arm from his grip, frowning slightly.

"Sit down."

His voice was deep and calm, not commanding but soothing.

"Don’t move."

Jean stiffly leaned back against the chair, her mind in disarray.

She wanted to ask him why he was here, wanted to ask how he knew, but her throat seemed blocked, not a word came out.

She could only blankly stare at him, allowing silent tears to slide down.

Justin withdrew the hand cushioning her forehead, fingertips seemingly still tingling with the cool sense of her skin.

He straightened up, pulling out a fine-textured deep blue silk handkerchief from his suit inner pocket, effortlessly holding it in front of her.

"Wipe your face."

Still simple words.

Jean instinctively took the handkerchief, the cool silk texture slightly clearing her mind.

She wiped her tear-streaked face with the handkerchief, motion stiff.

Justin didn’t say anything else.

He stepped back half a pace, sitting down in a plastic chair next to her.

The distance not too near nor far, precisely in her reach on the side behind.

He didn’t look at her, he simply crossed his legs, leaning slightly back, posture steady, his eyes calmly fixed on the tightly closed operating room door.

After Jean wiped her face, holding the handkerchief, she looked down, her gaze surprised.

Isn’t this the handkerchief she used in high school?

Seemed to have lost it somewhere, the equipment room or music classroom, she couldn’t recall.

How is it in Justin’s possession...