CHAPTER 181: CHAPTER 181: SHE DOESN’T REMEMBER ME ANYMORE

That afternoon, Laurel Sinclair came unexpectedly.

She was dressed in a beige suit, her hair neatly tied at the back, with exquisite light makeup on her face.

"Holly, how are you recovering?" Laurel’s voice was a bit hoarse, carrying traces of fatigue.

"I’m mostly fine now, Laurel." Holly looked at her, "And Blake Sinclair?"

Laurel remained silent for a long time, "I’ll take you to him."

Holly’s heartbeat suddenly quickened as she followed Laurel out of the ward.

The noonday sunlight streamed in through the glass window.

Mid-Autumn Festival had passed, the osmanthus trees outside had shed their blossoms, leaving only lush greenery with no golden hues.

Holly withdrew her gaze from the window and pushed open the VIP ward door.

The ward was very quiet, with only the "beep-beep" sound of the heart monitor.

Her eyes fell on the man lying asleep on the bed.

Blake Sinclair lay on the hospital bed, bandages on his forehead and neck, with a conspicuous scar on his chin from a scrape.

The blue and white striped hospital gown made him appear even more fragile.

Holly stopped in her tracks, her heart hit as if by a heavy blow.

She walked over, reaching out to touch his face but hesitated, afraid to disturb him.

Her hand trembled uncontrollably, and she gripped tightly, "He... what did the doctor say..."

She had her suspicions since Celia Stiles refused to talk about it.

She thought she was prepared, yet seeing him like this, she couldn’t suppress the pain that surged in her chest.

Laurel quickly supported her shaky body, guiding her to sit on the sofa nearby.

"When that billboard fell, it was lucky he survived, and then he jumped into the river to save someone — it was a miracle."

Laurel’s voice was choked, "His strength was exhausted, he suffered severe head trauma, and he was already comatose when brought to the hospital."

"What did the doctor say? When will he wake up?"

"The doctor said his central nervous system is damaged, with aftereffects from bleeding in the brain. They aren’t sure, it could be tomorrow or much longer. It all depends on his will to survive."

Holly listened, a splitting headache overwhelming her.

Only when a cool sensation touched the back of her hand did she realize her face was wet with tears.

Tears streamed down uncontrollably.

She remembered the boy in her dream sitting in a wheelchair, promising to return to teach her how to write her name, and his grip holding her tightly in the river.

Laurel looked at her brother lying on the bed, her eyes red.

She pulled a document folder from her bag and handed it to Holly, "The police found this in Blake’s car. I saw him take it from home; I think he meant to give it to you that night."

Holly looked down at the folder in her hands, appearing to contain an album and an envelope.

Its presence repeatedly reminded her of that awaited night of fireworks.

"I have to return to the company for matters there."

Laurel wiped her eyes, "Holly, you should go back to rest soon, the nurse is here to watch over things."

Holly watched Laurel’s silhouette vanish at the doorway.

The carefree, spirited eldest Sinclair once again took the family’s burdens upon her shoulders.

Laurel left the ward, reaching the elevator when her phone rang.

It was a company board member calling, the tone filled with urgency, asking when she’d return for the board meeting.

She hung up and messaged Cole Tanner to hold the board members steady, then hurried toward the parking lot.

As she reached the car, she stopped in her tracks.

Sebastian Shaw leaned against a black Porsche, half-hidden in the parking lot’s shadows, his expression unclear.

Wearing a black trench coat, a cigarette between his fingers, smoke blurred his face.

Laurel almost turned to run the moment she saw him.

But his reaction was faster, a few steps to her and he embraced her waist, trapping her in his arms.

"Let me go!" Laurel struggled, her voice icy.

Sebastian’s breath was at her neck, carrying a faint scent of tobacco, "You need me, just like the Sinclair family needed me back then."

Laurel’s body stiffened, her struggling ceased.

Noticing her tension, Sebastian kissed her behind the ear, his intentions tender yet determined.

But in the next moment.

"Smack!"

A loud slap landed on his face.

Laurel broke free from his embrace, looking at the man she once loved and hated, her eyes devoid of warmth.

"You’re wrong. Back then, it wasn’t the Sinclair Family that chose you, nor do I have to choose you now."

After she spoke, she forcefully pushed him away, opened the car door, and got in.

The car started, driving out of the parking lot.

Through the rearview mirror, watching the figure standing there grow smaller, Laurel’s maintained composure finally crumbled.

Some wounds, even when scarred over, still ache faintly when touched.

...

In the ward, dusk was falling.

Celia Stiles had gone back, Director Lennon and Teacher Crowe returned to Port Kallow to handle moving procedures to Glynmere, for convenience in caring for her.

Holly sat by the bedside, gazing at the evening glow outside the window.

The clouds in the sky were dyed red, much like the river’s blood that day, and much like the sunset of her childhood at Port Kallow.

She picked up the document folder, her fingers slightly trembling.

Opening the folder, there was a photo album and an envelope inside.

The album was old, enclosed in a protective cover, its edges worn.

She flipped open the album, which was filled with photos.

The first page had a polaroid of her lying on a desk.

The angle was very similar to a photo she had seen before.

On the back were neatly written words: [September 2001, she fell asleep again, this time quietly, without drool.]

Holly’s nose tingled as she continued flipping through.

Page after page.

At the primary school opening ceremony, she listened intently to the school leaders’ speeches in her uniform.

[September 2001, she started primary school, the smallest, with the brightest smile. But, she no longer remembers me, which is good, better than resentment.]

At the middle school ceremony, she stood as a student representative on stage, holding a microphone, her expression nervous yet earnest.

[September 2007, at the district middle school hall, she has grown up, she’s excellent.]

Starting high school, she and some new friends ate popsicles by the playground.

[September 2010, City No. 1 High School. She made new friends, that’s good.]

The university photo’s background wasn’t at the freshman ceremony but her on tiptoe writing on the freshman wish wall.

[September 2013, Beldon University. Corinium was her dream, so we’ll meet in Brelond.]

Year after year, age after age, page after page.

Each photo had dates and places marked.

From her tender childhood to her girlhood, each new stage of her life was quietly recorded like this.

Some photos were clear, others blurry.

Some even seemed enlarged and cropped specifically from school public account pictures or group photos, just to capture her alone.

Tears dropped one by one on the transparent album cover, leaving small water stains.

She always thought there was a twenty-year void between them, until now, she finally realized he had always been there.

Quietly present at every important juncture of her life, silently appearing and disappearing.

He fulfilled his promise by the Nymphaea Pond, "I’ll return before school starts," never missing any of her school ceremonies.

With trembling hands, she turned to the album’s last page.

Here was only a small, yellowed, somewhat blurry photo.

In the photo, was her at five years old and Blake Sinclair at seven.