Armand got out of the car and hurried into the house.
In the bedroom, he saw Genevieve sitting on the carpet in a daze as the housekeeper knelt beside her,
urgently dressing the wound on her wrist.
Armand froze when he spotted the blood splattered on the carpet. “What happened?”
“I came in to see if Mrs. Faulkner was awake but saw her digging at the wound on her wrist. She
exerted more force when I tried to stop her.” Genevieve slit her wrist a while ago, and the wound was
slowly scabbing. Seemingly oblivious to the pain, she dug at her injury until it started bleeding again.
The housekeeper paled in fright when she saw the bloody scene in the bedroom.
Genevieve suffered from coagulation disorder, so her wound couldn't heal as quickly as normal people.
Armand helped her put on a jacket and brought her to the military hospital.
On the way to the hospital, Genevieve made herself comfortable in Armand's embrace and soon fell
asleep.
Once she fell asleep, Jack appeared in her dreams. She'd either dream about stabbing his stomach
that night or him lying on the operating table.
The blurry scenes replayed again and again in her mind until she almost went crazy. The guilt in her
heart was at its peak.
In her dreams, she sobbed and mumbled incessantly, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry...”
Hearing her mumbles, Armand looked down and realized her face was damp with tears. He brushed
her tears away with his fingers as his heart ached for her.
After their chat in the bedroom that night, Genevieve seemed to have been struck by a thought, and
her mental state gradually declined.
She kept apologizing in her sleep and was often in a daze in the morning. Sometimes, when playing
with the kids in the living room, she would suddenly space out for a long while.
Her mental state was worse today as she inflicted harm on herself.
At the military hospital, the medical staff came over and helped dress Genevieve's wound again.
Armand got her a ward and remained there as she slept soundly. After staring at her pale face for a
long time, he suddenly got up and left.
Genevieve woke up to realize she was in a hospital ward.
A female doctor who was wearing a mask was beside her bed, flipping through her medical records.
Noticing that Genevieve was awake, the doctor came over and raised her bed. “Ms. Rachford, do you
feel unwell?” she asked gently.
“My head aches badly, and there seems to be something weighing on my heart. I feel horrible,”
Genevieve responded honestly.
The doctor offered her a glass of water. Genevieve took it and thanked her gratefully.
After taking a few sips of water, Genevieve finally felt much better. She asked, “Why am I at the
hospital?”
“You felt unwell, and your husband sent you here,” the female doctor informed her, her tender voice
soothing the restlessness in Genevieve's heart.
The doctor then asked, “You look pale. Did you have nightmares for the past few days?”
“Did I have nightmares?” Genevieve was baffled.
The doctor chatted with Genevieve for over four hours and even kept Genevieve company when the
latter had lunch in the ward.
After the doctor stepped out of the ward, she stood outside and observed Genevieve through the glass
panel instead of leaving right away.
Once the doctor was gone, Genevieve was left alone with no one else to talk to. She sat on the bed
and slowly began spacing out while glancing at the bandage on her wrist.
The doctor sighed and went to the adjoining ward.
Armand was standing in front of the window, deep in thought. Did Genevieve's mental state worsen
because of Mandy's fake death? Or did she think she killed Charice with her own hands?
When the door was opened, Armand snapped out of his reverie and went to the female doctor. “How
did it go?”
“She's feeling guilty over someone but doesn't know what to do. Thus, her mental state is declining day
by day, causing her to space out for long periods,” the doctor revealed.
“Who is that person?” Armand asked.
The doctor shook her head. “She's the only one who knows who that person is. I can't counsel her. If
this goes on, I'm afraid she'll become depressed.”
Depression was a form of pessimism.
The pessimistic outlook would soon consume her whole, ripping her apart. She wanted to live and be
happy but didn't know how to do so.
The doctor told Armand solemnly, “If her condition worsens, she would subconsciously have the notion
of committing suicide.”
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