The scream was from the patient in the next bed.

She shrunk into a corner, her voice trembling as she spoke. "Ma—Ma'am, don't do it!"

Mrs. Hardy knelt on the ground, right in the middle of the spilled hot water.

In her hands was a silver shard from the shattered inner lining of the thermos, its sharpest end pointed toward her own neck.

"If you don't come with me to see Travis, I will die right here! Right in front of you! I'll let you feel that guilt for your entire life!" Her bloodshot eyes glared at Larissa, a resolute expression on her face.

Larissa had to admit, at that moment, she was truly afraid.

She had been so afraid that for a brief instant, she forgot how much Mrs. Hardy feared death, how truly manipulative and shameless she was. In her panic, she agreed to the woman's request.

…

Travis had already passed the critical period and was transferred from the intensive care unit back to a regular ward in the spinal surgery department.

Each ward had three patients in one room, but