The only sound at the top floor was the tick-tock of the IV drip, each drop a slow, deliberate beat—a reminder that the patient was still breathing.“Mommy…” a low voice sounded in the ward. The nurses, who were carefully cleaning up the patient in the left bed, all jerked their heads in surprise. The patient in the right bed had finally muttered a word after three months of unconsciousness.Yes, this ward had two beds—a special arrangement by the Rose family.“She’s awake!” a nurse whispered as the patient’s eyes slowly opened.“Go on, call the doctor,” another urged.“Mommy…” the voice called again, tears rolling down her cheeks and wetting the sheets. The patient stared at the ceiling, uncaring of where she was. The last thing she remembered was being surrounded by her husband and armed men who wanted to hurt her.Oh yes—she had jumped from the bridge, struggled underwater, fought against death, and tried to swim in water that had no surface. Now, she was here.The door swung open,
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