I didn't reply to Mr. Alves' message right away, not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't dare.Over the years, whenever I dared to hope, I'd always ended up hurt even more deeply.Even if someone was willing to vouch for me, would my parents and brothers believe him?In the afternoon, I visited the healer's room alone.When the herbalist peeled back my sleeve, she drew in a sharp breath.Flesh was stuck tightly to fabric, and the wound had long since become infected and inflamed.While she applied the medication, I lay on the sickbed without making a sound.The herbalist couldn't help asking, "Doesn't it hurt?"I shook my head.In truth, it did hurt.When I cried out in pain as a child, Hans would always comfort me with a pained expression.Now, nobody cared, no matter how badly hurt I was. So I didn't think it was necessary to voice my pain anymore.Just then, my attending healer, Maria Thompson, rushed in and slammed my diagnosis report angrily down on the tabl
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