She missed him, couldn't endure it for a moment.
Charles Mcintosh came today to ask her if she wanted to go to Cakago, which indirectly meant to tell her that Sylvan Cheney wasn't coming back.
Perhaps he had found Sylvan Cheney's corpse, but he didn't tell her, nor did he fulfill his promise of letting her see it, probably fearing she wouldn't be able to handle it.
The discomfort in her stomach began to churn again, wave after wave.
Jasmine Yale frowned tightly, her small hands clutching her pajamas, bitterness rising in her throat.
Her complexion grew ever paler.
"Mr. Mcintosh, I'm going upstairs..." she lifted her eyes to look at him.
Charles Mcintosh then nodded, knowing that whatever he said would be useless.
Some wounds could only be handed over to time.
Jasmine Yale turned around, wearing slippers, supporting herself on the staircase railing as she went upstairs.
She had endured for a month, a whole month, but she couldn't take it anymore...
