Chapter 71
71:
Morse’s arm was pinned in a bruising grip, making him clench his jaw against the pain. “Chloe’s been taken for an examination,” he said, his voice grave and measured.
Outwardly, Morse appeared composed, but inside, his nerves were frayed, and his thoughts spun out of control. Behind the gleam of his gold-rimmed glasses, worry churned in eyes typically known for their kindness. His palms were slick with sweat, a cold dread creeping through his veins, though no one around him noticed.
“What did the doctor say? How did she lose her sight so suddenly?” Ralphy asked, his voice tight with tension.
“They still don’t have an answer. Everything’s uncertain right now. Chloe said she took a bad fall yesterday and hit her head, but we don’t know if that’s the reason,” Morse replied, his tone flat and cold.
At that moment, Dylan strode in, radiating urgency. Ralphy turned to him. “Did Chloe ever mention falling or hitting her head?”
“No,” Dylan answered, his jaw tight and his hands balled into fists. “She was in great spirits at lunch.”
Earlier, while preparing Christina’s meal, Dylan had also whipped up all of Chloe’s favorite dishes. At that time, Chloe had been energetic and chatty, trailing after him and begging to move in with Christina. She had pestered him endlessly, but he’d stood his ground and turned her down. Now, the memory gnawed at him. Maybe he should have at least considered her request instead of dismissing her outright. A wave of regret washed over him—he wished he had taken Chloe’s plea more seriously.
“She probably brushed it off as nothing serious, not wanting to alarm us,” Ralphy said, his voice heavy with emotion. Anxiety consumed him as he worried for Chloe, but felt powerless to do anything.
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The bitter ache of frustration crept over Ralphy, each moment feeding his mounting self-reproach. “If I hadn’t used the Scott family’s Woodfort, Chloe could’ve started treatment already,” he murmured, regret threading through every word.
“What do you mean?” Morse asked, his tone sharp.
Dylan’s gaze shifted to Ralphy, a faint crease deepening between his brows.
“King reached out to Miss Jones, saying that the prescription’s nearly complete, but one ingredient is still missing: Woodfort,” Ralphy clarified quietly.
Morse’s brow tightened, suspicion flickering in his eyes. “Woodfort is practically unheard of. Most people don’t even know it exists.”
“Exactly,” Ralphy said, the weight of self-blame bearing down on him. “If I hadn’t used the sole and only Woodfort of the Scott family, it could’ve been used to treat Chloe right now.”
“Don’t talk like that. Back then, the Scott family wouldn’t have stood by, not when your condition had been dire. Even if we’d kept the Woodfort, we would have used it for whoever needed it most,” Dylan replied, giving Ralphy’s shoulder a firm, reassuring pat.
Ralphy swallowed hard, emotion tightening his throat. He gripped Dylan’s hand in silent gratitude, his eyes shining.
“There’s no point dwelling on what-ifs. We’ll just wait for King’s update,” Christina said, keeping her tone steady and composed. She was eager to check on Chloe. If anything changed for the worse, the Woodfort might be useless, and another prescription could become necessary. The thought that Chloe’s illness might spiral beyond anyone’s help haunted her, a fear that no medicine would be enough if it got out of control.
Soon, Chloe was transferred to a ward, flanked by the doctor and nurse who had handled her examination.
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