Jesse Rowan bent down and reached out to touch her forehead.
Sure enough, it was very hot.
A needle was still in her right hand, with the medicine flowing into her body through the drip.
Not sure if Jesse Rowan's hand was very cool, but Joan Harry made a sound, "Mm," furrowing her brows tighter, caught between sleep and wakefulness.
"Mr. Rowan, honestly, it's not really our fault. When we found Miss Harry, she was standing alone in the rain, as if she didn't care about her life. I offered her an umbrella, and she pushed me away. Everyone can testify to this point." Grandma Zaila, the old maid, argued cunningly.
In her eyes, Joan Harry was just the mistress Jesse Rowan was keeping, an indiscreet woman.
Moreover, someone clearly in disfavor.
Otherwise, why would she be having an abortion at the hospital?
