Damien sat in his study, the delicate band of a ring feeling heavier in his hand. The "accident" was a deliberate act of violence, and the ring was a tangible symbol of Sarah's shattered future. A strange sense of responsibility for her condition settled over him. Knowing the official police investigation would move too slowly, even with his help, he decided to take matters into his own hands.
He instructed Marco to begin a private, full-scale investigation, leveraging his extensive cybersecurity and intelligence networks. He wanted to know everything about Ethan Evans, Sarah Walker, and the people around them. With his plan set in motion, Damien headed to the hospital. He had to see her, to confirm the threat of her 'vulture' family was real. His inexplicable need to protect her now had a lethal justification.
Meanwhile, at the hospital, Sarah was reeling from the heart-breaking look on Mathilda's face—the anger, the pain, and the slap. That morgue encounter made her feel like it was all her fault and that without her, all of their lives would be easier. Sarah wished she were lying in the morgue instead of Ethan. Then she thought about her conversation with Chloe, sensing the hatred and resentment in her voice when speaking about William Walker, and questioning Chloe's fake care.
Those visits from Chloe and Caroline only deepened her unease and loneliness, and she questioned the inconsistencies in their stories and the suspicious papers they wanted her to sign.
The hospital room felt like a prison. She had to find the truth, and she felt Mathilda might hold the key. Waiting for a moment when the nurse wasn't looking, she attempted to sneak out in her wheelchair, struggling to manage it on her own.
As she struggled to wheel herself, she accidentally bumped into a man rushing in, preoccupied with a phone call regarding his grandmother. The man was Sam Wellington.
"I'm sorry," Sarah said, trying to move her wheelchair away.
"It's okay. Are you hurt?" Sam asked, his gaze lingering on her face. He noticed a faint laceration scar above her left eyebrow, a detail that sent a jolt of recognition—a memory buried decades deep. Could this be the girl from the orphanage? Could she be that same little girl?
Sarah: "Do I look hurt?"
Sam looked pointedly at her cast and head bandage, raising an eyebrow.
Sarah sighed. The realization hit her: she was powerless and knew nowhere to go. She had to give up the idea of running away. "I need to turn back…"
Sam: "What, now you're no longer running out of here?"
Sarah: "How did you know I'm running away from the hospital?" She looked at him sceptically.
Sam: "Just my guess, judging by your face." He smiled.
Sarah rolled her eyes and started laughing—a sound she hadn't made in a long time. She then looked at him with puppy eyes. "I wanted to leave, but now I just want to get back to my room... I can't drive this thing, it's exhausting…"
Sam found her cute. He took her wheelchair, turned it around, and said, "I'll help you back to your room. What's the room number?"
Sarah was about to answer—"It's..." —when her voice trailed off as a nurse and Doctor Miller arrived.
"Miss Walker, what are you doing here? You should be resting in your room," the doctor said, telling the new nurse to take her away. Sarah sighed in desperation. Sam, with a knowing smile, watched her frustration. He said, "Bye, Miss Walker," and she offered him an 'I give up' kind of smile. Sam laughed.
As they wheeled her away, Sam's thoughts returned to the scar. I have to know if this is her.
Dr. Miller: "Mr. Wellington, shall we head to your grandmother's ward?"
Sam: "How is she doing?"
Dr. Miller: "Much better. She has half of our hospital entertaining her."
After ensuring his grandmother was fine, Sam went to Dr. Miller's office to discuss equipment for the new hospital wing. Mid-conversation, Sam asked, "Tell me, Dr. Miller, who's that girl in the wheelchair that I met at the entrance earlier? What's her condition?"
Doctor Miller explained her condition and told him about the accident. Sam felt sorry for her, but the sense of familiarity lingered. Sarah Walker, who are you? Sam thought.