"Was it you who saved ?"
"Yes." Harlan Quinn nodded.
Earlier during the lesson, Jocelyn was constantly recalling the events of that day, when Vera Ford pushed her off the bridge, her head striking a boat, and then she fell into the water...
After that, she rembers nothing; she woke up here, her whole head in a daze.
Yet she didn’t die? Jocelyn breathed a sigh of relief, and a sense of joy surged in her heart at being so precious to life.
"Thank you!" She looked at Harlan Quinn, tired yet happy.
"I thought you would be in a coma for at least another week." Harlan Quinn was also relieved. "I didn’t expect you to wake up so soon, which is a good thing. Do you rember who you are?" He quickly handed her the phone, "Here, make a call to your family."
For soone in her situation, it’s common to have a concussion, which can cause amnesia; if severe, it could even lead to a vegetative state.
Jocelyn Morgan raised her eyes to look at the director, took the phone from his hand gently, and murmured, "I’m Jocelyn Morgan, an online writer. I... I have no parents, my parents are dead." This mory wasn’t very deep.
Ah?
She’s also an orphan?
Harlan Quinn was montarily shocked inside.
She leaned against the headboard, her delicate brows slightly furrowed, staring blankly at the phone, as if trying to rember sothing.
Harlan Quinn noticed sothing was amiss and patiently waited. Could she really have amnesia? If so, it would be troubleso; it would be hard to find her family.
"Ian Shelby." She suddenly said a na, looking up at him, "I rember Ian Shelby; he’s my boyfriend. We went to the ancient town together, and when he went to the restroom, I was pushed off the bridge by a woman nad Vera Ford."
Pushed by soone?
Harlan Quinn was internally shocked. Isn’t this attempted murder? Such a vile act; it’s against the law.
"Do you rember his phone number?" The middle-aged man asked eagerly again.
Jocelyn shook her head, not rembering, but she had it stored in her phone. She looked around again.
"Miss Morgan, when I rescued you, you didn’t have a phone on you."
She suddenly rembered, she was taking pictures of the scenery across the river when Vera pushed her, and the phone fell into the water.
"Where is Ian Shelby? What does he do?" Harlan Quinn was particularly kind. "You’ve been unconscious for so long; he must be looking for you everywhere, and very worried about you too."
Jocelyn couldn’t answer these questions. In the mont of deep reflection, she felt a headache as if it was splitting, her expression also showed pain.
"Then don’t think, don’t think." Harlan Quinn advised her. "Being alive is good; first, take care of your injuries. Your head got hurt."
"Did you treat ?" Jocelyn asked, puzzled. "Or did you bring back from the hospital?"
The middle-aged man answered honestly, "I studied traditional dicine and have various herbs planted in the backyard. They are no less effective than hospital dicines. You haven’t hurt your bones, don’t need surgery, and have no internal bleeding, which is a very good sign. So, I treated you myself and didn’t expect you to wake up so soon."
Jocelyn was fortunate within her misfortune. Harlan Quinn happened to pass by when fishing that day, managing to save her, or she would have drowned.
Filled with gratitude towards him, Jocelyn said, "Thank you." Then she turned her gaze to the soft, cute, and quiet little girl at the end of the bed, then looked at him, "Your daughter?"
"No," Sabina replied adorably, "He’s our director, this is a welfare institution."
A welfare institution?
Jocelyn was a bit shocked. She glanced at this kind man in front of her, then at the cute little girl. Was she a child adopted by the welfare institution?
An inexplicable sadness ca over her.
Jocelyn looked at Sabina, who was holding the director’s hand and smiling sweetly at her, "Sister Jocelyn, shall we call the police? Let the officers send you ho?"
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