Back in the bedroom, the man put Lucy Ansley down and went to the bathroom to shower.
The bedside lamp gave off a warm orange glow at night. Lucy sat on the bed hugging her knees, listening to the sound of water in the bathroom. She had never felt so content.
Many times, she imagined that if she hadn't walked into the health center that day or hadn't met Henry Ronan, she might still be struggling in distress, like a walking corpse.
The sudden surge of sentimentality engulfed Lucy, making her lose herself in it.
Until Henry finished showering and came out, she was still sitting on the bed, her gaze distant as she stared at the wall.
The smell of alcohol had diminished significantly from the man, his short black hair hanging messily over his brow.
He bent his knuckle and tapped her forehead, seeing her unfocused eyes gradually come into focus. He leaned down with arms braced on both sides of her, asking, "What are you daydreaming about again?"
