Chapter 1928: Chapter 1928: He… Is Not My Husband
Jasmine Yale calmly and composedly began to eat breakfast; the breakfast tasted very good, and she liked it.
The pain in her stomach had subsided, and the sunshine filled the ward, brightening her mood significantly.
Ever since Sylvan Cheney was still alive, her mood wasn’t too bad each day. Whether he yelled at her or didn’t rember her, it was fine as long as he was alive.
After breakfast, she got out of bed, walked around, and stood by the window to view the scenery.
The doctor ca over to give her another check-up.
“Doctor, how is the situation today?” Jasmine Yale asked carefully.
“From the ultrasound, the condition has stabilized, so don’t worry.”
“Can I be discharged tomorrow? I don’t really like staying in the hospital…”
“If you’re determined to leave, that’s fine, but co to the hospital imdiately if there are any problems, rember to take the dication to protect the fetus, your constitution is relatively weak.” The doctor advised, “Also, you can’t stay up late, don’t do anything too exhausting, and take more walks sotis.”
“I will rember that.”
“Where is your family? Why haven’t I seen them?”
“I haven’t told them yet, I’m afraid they’ll worry.”
“Isn’t the person next door your husband? I saw him open your door while you were still asleep this morning, but he didn’t co in, just stood at the doorway.”
Jasmine Yale was slightly surprised, what was he doing at her door? Wanting to say thank you?
But the way he said thank you wasn’t sothing she could appreciate.
He said thank you as if others owed him.
“He… is not my husband.”
“Oh, it seems we misunderstood, I’ll continue with my rounds.”
“Mm.” Jasmine Yale nodded, watching the doctor leave.
Next door.
Sylvan Cheney was filled with frustration from his interaction with Jasmine Yale and couldn’t help but want to smoke.
But there were no cigarettes here.
Sylvan Cheney grew more irritable and nearly smashed the glass on the coffee table.
He didn’t even know where these emotions were coming from; they were getting more intense, impossible to suppress, like gunpowder close to ignition, ready to explode at any mont.
He had no choice but to pour himself a large glass of pure water and drink it down.
The cold water slightly quelled the fire in his chest, but his emotions beca even more confused.
Since waking up several months ago, at first, he felt like an uninspired pool of water every day, not wanting to move, too lazy to move, and unwilling to think about anything.
Because, the slightest thought would cause a headache through the night.
Later, he simply stopped thinking about anything, and it did help significantly; the headaches were gone, and he focused his settled mind on work.
He found himself interested in work, so he worked non-stop, day and night.
“Knock knock”—
The door to the ward was knocked on.
“Co in.” Sylvan Cheney withdrew from his thoughts.
A middle-aged man in a shirt walked in: “CEO Cheney.”
“Doctor Canary, have a seat.”
“Is CEO Cheney not feeling well? Why did you co to the hospital? Is the headache acting up again?” Doctor Canary asked.
He was Sylvan Cheney’s attending physician, responsible for treating Sylvan’s head injury.
“Drank too much alcohol, my stomach bled.”
“CEO Cheney, I told you, you shouldn’t work so hard; you should shift your focus elsewhere, go on a vacation, travel a bit, it’s all good.”
“I’m not interested in those things.”
“That won’t work; constantly working isn’t beneficial for treating the head trauma either.”
Sylvan Cheney sat on the sofa, his brow slightly furrowed, one hand supporting his head.
“The headaches have been severe lately, and I’m not sure if it’s due to being overworked and affecting the head injury, so I called you to ask.” Sylvan Cheney said mildly, “Last night after drinking, the headache was intense.”
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