CHAPTER 62: CHAPTER 62: UNCLE HOLDEN

Perhaps it was just similar; this style of handkerchief isn’t uncommon.

The heavy automatic door slowly slid open to both sides.

The lead surgeon, wearing a green surgical gown and mask, came out first.

The assistants and nurses followed behind him, looking exhausted.

Jean Ellison saw them coming out, her legs turning to jelly, almost unable to stand.

Justin Holden discreetly supported her arm from behind, helping her to steady herself.

"Doctor, doctor, my daughter... she’s..."

Jean’s voice trembled uncontrollably.

The chief surgeon removed his mask, looking at Jean, his gaze pausing on her tear-streaked and despairing face for a brief moment.

"Please rest assured."

Before he finished speaking, he naturally glanced past her, landing his gaze on the man behind her.

The man exuded extraordinary charisma, composed as a mountain, impeccably dressed; he was likely the child’s father.

"The surgery was very successful."

The chief surgeon’s voice was loud and clear, carrying a sense of relief, as he directed his words to Justin Holden, speaking with respect.

"It was extremely dangerous, but fortunately handled in time. Currently, her vital signs are stable. She is now in the recovery room for observation and will be transferred back to the ward shortly."

Jean’s legs gave way once more, and this time she truly would have collapsed if Justin hadn’t caught her firmly in time.

She covered her mouth, forcing back a sob that lodged in her throat, leaving only an uncontrollable trembling in her body as tears flowed incessantly.

Justin tightened his grip slightly on her shoulder.

He met the chief surgeon’s gaze, his face emotionless, nodding, his voice deep and steady.

"Thank you for your hard work."

"Just my duty."

The chief surgeon nodded, shifting his tone to offer a professional suggestion, his gaze sweeping over Jean’s pale and weak condition and the noisy surroundings.

"Although the surgery was successful, it was still heart surgery. The recovery period after is crucial. She needs an absolutely quiet and comfortable environment for recuperation, to avoid any stimulation and risk of infection."

He looked at Justin again, offering a suggestion.

"You’re currently staying in a six-person room, correct? That environment is unsuitable—too noisy, with lots of foot traffic."

"I recommend that you immediately transfer to a private special care unit in our hospital."

"The space is private, with professional nurses offering 24-hour care. The environment is quiet, which aids in postoperative recovery and family accompaniment."

He particularly emphasized "family accompaniment," his gaze shifting between Jean and Justin.

The implication was clear—the child’s mother, in her current state, also needed a better environment for rest.

The duty of accompaniment fell on the child’s father.

Jean hadn’t had the chance to speak.

"What procedures need to be done?"

Justin’s deep voice interrupted her first, calm and unhurried, imbued with a strong sense of security.

The chief surgeon immediately handed over a document.

"A signature here to confirm the transfer to another ward. Someone will liaise with you regarding the fees."

"The sooner the transfer, the better. The child will be directly sent there from the recovery room, avoiding unnecessary stress."

Justin showed no hesitation, not even a glance at the document’s content.

He released his hold on Jean’s hand, stepped forward, and retrieved an expensive platinum fountain pen from his suit’s inner pocket.

The pen tip hovered above the guardian’s signature line.

The relationship with the patient needed to be filled out.

The chief surgeon stood by, naturally expecting the signature of the child’s father.

Jean held her breath, her heart racing.

She stared at Justin’s hand holding the pen, his knuckles whitening slightly from exertion.

What was he planning to do?

Was he really going to...

"Do you mind?"

Justin turned his head, sweeping his gaze over her pale face, his eyes cold and resolute.

Jean dared not delay any longer and shook her head.

Justin gently acknowledged, his wrist descending steadily.

The pen tip sketched across the smooth paper, making a soft rustling sound, writing a few forceful characters.

In the "relationship with patient" section, he didn’t pause, clearly writing.

Father and daughter.

After signing, he deftly capped the pen and handed the document and pen back to the chief surgeon, his actions smooth and natural, no different from signing an ordinary legal document at his law firm.

"Much appreciated."

His voice was deep and steady, showing no trace of turbulence.

The chief surgeon nodded in satisfaction.

"Alright, I’ll arrange it immediately."

"Once the child’s condition stabilizes, she’ll be directly sent to ward A707. You can head over shortly."

With that, he turned and left in haste.

A few hours later.

Jean didn’t remember how she fell asleep on the bed, covered with a soft blanket.

The sleep wasn’t restful; she dreamed of many things from the past.

Her father was still there, the Caldwell family still existed, and even Justin Holden, though his face was cold, was beside her.

Her eyelids fluttered heavily a few times before slowly opening.

The first thing she saw was a gentle cream-colored ceiling with cloud-shaped wall lamps.

It wasn’t the roof of her small apartment, nor the glaring fluorescent tubes of the six-person ward.

The air was filled with a faint lemon freshener scent, and the smell of disinfectant wasn’t as unpleasant.

As her memory returned, she woke up fully, thinking of Jesse, and immediately sat up in bed.

Her gaze swept over to the hospital bed a short distance away, her body freezing, breath caught.

Soft sunlight filtered through the half-pulled sheer curtains, casting light into the hospital room.

Jesse lay on the hospital bed, covered with a soft, pure white down comforter, only her face exposed.

Her round face was still pale, but her breathing was steady.

Her long eyelashes resembled little fans, casting shadows under her eyelids.

She was awake, her big dark eyes wide open, slightly weak yet unafraid.

Someone was already there with her.

Justin Holden sat by the bedside, not in the visitor’s chair but perched on the edge of the bed.

His expensive dark gray suit jacket lay carelessly over the sofa armrest nearby, leaving him in a meticulously pressed white shirt, sleeves neatly rolled to the forearm, revealing a smoothly contoured wrist and a luxurious watch.

His back was straight, slightly inclined towards the hospital bed, in a naturally protective stance.

He didn’t speak, just sat there quietly.

A large hand gently held the small hand of Jesse under the covers that wasn’t hooked to an IV.

Jesse remained silent as well.

She seemed unafraid of this stranger Uncle who suddenly appeared.

She simply gazed at him with clear, curious, inquisitive eyes.

Her eyelashes fluttered lightly, like butterfly wings.

Justin’s profile, usually hard and sharp to the point of severity, softened greatly in that moment, perhaps because the sunlight was just right.

He lowered his eyes, his gaze focusing intently on Jesse’s face, his deep eyes radiating a gentle glow.

"Why didn’t you wake me?"

Jean walked over and asked him softly.

"Mom, you’ve been asleep for a whole day, longer than Jesse has been asleep."

"Uncle Holden didn’t let anyone disturb you, saying you were tired and needed rest, and he covered you with a blanket as well."

Jesse seemed to be recovering well; her voice was soft but her enunciation was clear.