Eleanor Winslow wanted him to go back, but she didn’t have the strength. "I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror during the day, and I realized that I no longer resemble my mother." Eleanor hugged her knees with both hands. She didn’t turn on the light and didn’t cry, but her voice was like a sorrowful whisper in the night. "When I was little, many elders used to say that I looked like my mother, but now, I’ve almost forgotten what she looks like." The appearance in the photos and the image in my memory aren’t exactly the same, and the image in my memory is gradually fading. The appearance in my memory and the photos are in conflict, and I don’t know which is the real mother. Nor do I know which one is the real mother—the one who loves me or the one who abandoned me. Suicide, in some sense, is also a form of abandonment. "Maybe if you meet her again, you’ll remember her appearance," Adrian Grant’s consolation was sparse. He wasn’t good at comforting people. This sort of thing, only his brother Jonah Grant was good at. Content orıginally comes from 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭•𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦•𝘯𝘦𝘵 If Jonah were here, he would probably be able to say a lot of comforting words. Eleanor’s eyes were unfocused, staring into the void of the dark. "If she were still here, why hasn’t she come to see me all these years?" Adrian opened his mouth, just about to say something. She continued, "But I still hope she is alive." Eleanor looked at Adrian and asked, "Could it be because I wasn’t good enough that she chose to leave me voluntarily?" The man’s tone wasn’t of infinite tenderness but a fond helplessness. "Look at me," he commanded. Eleanor looked up in confusion, the moonlight rendering the man’s features indistinct yet inexplicably comforting her. It was as if, in this night, there was still someone who hadn’t abandoned her. Adrian moved his wheelchair forward a bit, the wheels stopping just short of Eleanor’s feet. He reached out, gently caressing Eleanor’s face. Even without light, even without clear vision, he knew what she looked like. "Eleanor, you are good, you are well-behaved, you are good enough," Adrian spoke warmly. —I already love you so much, and so many people like you, coveting you, how could you possibly be more well-behaved? —You are good. No matter whether she is still in this world, no matter what choice she made, you are not responsible. She gazed openly at Adrian. Adrian raised his hand and turned on the floor lamp beside them. The woman’s expression became clearer, and her clear eyes seemed to hold countless words. Adrian grabbed Eleanor’s arms with both hands, lifting her up a bit, then wrapping his arms around her waist. Eleanor stood up with his assistance and suddenly fell into the man’s embrace, met with a warm kiss. Lingering and tender. Eleanor didn’t have the strength or energy to resist and didn’t bother to, letting Adrian kiss her. She thought he would take the opportunity to push his boundaries today, but unexpectedly the man was as restrained and clearly comforting. Her beautiful almond eyes were slightly watery, glistening and hazy, making her look pitiably enchanting, causing his heart to tremble. Adrian’s Adam’s apple bobbed; he raised his hand to cover her eyes, suppressing any desires inappropriate for the moment. "What were you about to say?" Adrian asked. Eleanor blinked, her eyelashes brushing softly across his palm. "Nothing," Eleanor said. "No one is obligated to accompany someone for a lifetime, nor can anyone accompany someone for a lifetime." She told herself not to get lost in her thoughts. Not to be panicked by a piece of news from Yvonne Vance. "Adrian, you probably shouldn’t be discharged yet," Eleanor shifted back into her little manager mode, though her voice was slightly unnatural. "Charles will come to pick me up in a while." Eleanor was relieved, getting up to carefully put away her mother’s belongings she had taken out. Diary, oil paintings, stamps, photos... Adrian watched her bustling around like a little ant transporting things, as if observing a delightful show. It was a message from Charles Rhodes: [President Grant, the doctor is urging you to hurry back] The disobedient patient read the message but didn’t reply, as if he hadn’t heard it. Ten minutes later, the woman who had gone into the study still hadn’t come out. Adrian sensed something was wrong and drove his wheelchair to the study. The woman lay on the study’s carpet, hugging a giant stuffed dog, eyes closed and motionless, as if asleep. This stuffed animal was a birthday present from her mother when Eleanor was eight, brought all the way from Hongkong to Aethelgard during winter break, and later to the U.K. when she went there as an exchange student. She truly loved Melody Nash and cherished her bond with Melody. Adrian, having never received preferential treatment from Selene Keane, used to hold out hope for her. His Zia was still so small, and having gained affection before losing it, naturally, it was hard to accept. After waiting a quarter of an hour, thinking Eleanor was sound asleep, Adrian prepared to carry her to bed, only to feel the heat of fever the moment his hand touched her cheek. Having experienced fluctuating high fevers himself recently, he knew the symptoms well. Adrian brushed aside Eleanor’s tousled hair, seeing her cheeks flushed, and felt that her forehead wasn’t that hot; it was a low fever. No exposure to cold; a fever sparked out of nowhere must have been triggered by today’s news. "Zia Winslow, people don’t always have to leave," Adrian helplessly pressed a kiss to her forehead, "I will love you more than anyone." As the warm lips had yet to part from her skin, Adrian sensed something. His heart skipped a beat, and he lowered his gaze— Eleanor had somehow opened her eyes, her clear almond eyes filled with obvious astonishment. The study fell into silent stillness. As their eyes met, the surrounding temperature quietly rose. After a few seconds, Adrian sat upright. He, seated in a wheelchair, was taller than Eleanor and calmly said, "You have a fever." Eleanor’s mind was a bit sluggish, "What did you say?" Adrian grasped her hand and placed it on her own forehead, repeating, "Eleanor, you have a fever." Eleanor pushed herself up, trying to rise from the ground, but with a body weakened by fever, she kneeled on the floor instead, clutching his wheelchair armrest, looking up at him. The woman’s gaze was stubborn and direct, demanding an answer. "Adrian, I heard!" Eleanor said firmly, "Would you dare to admit it? Or were you just trying to deceive me while I was asleep?" Adrian was silent for two seconds, then asked, "Are you still awake?" Eleanor, incredulous: "Are you saying there’s something wrong with my brain?" Eleanor was so furious, her head spinning, she stood up to leave. Having finally heard something nice, only to be told her brain had issues. "Where are you going?" Adrian quickly seized her arm. It’s none of your business where I’m going! Eleanor was about to burst out, but the man said, "I’m not deceiving you." Eleanor looked at him. Adrian gazed into her eyes, "You didn’t hear wrong, and I’ll admit it."