?<strong>Chapter 550:</strong>


    That quiet strength of hers was a paradox.


    The more she acted unbothered, the more Kristopher’s heart splintered.


    He wished, fervently, that the bullet had found him instead.


    A gunshot wound was nothing to him—he’d taken hits before, countless times.


    Carrie groaned a little in difort when the doctor entered to examine her.


    “Mrs. Norris,” the doctor said soothingly. “It’s perfectly normal to feel pain after surgery. It might get worse tonight, but we have medication for that. If it bes too much, just let me know.”


    Kristopher asked quickly, “What about side effects?”


    The doctor turned to him, his tone reassuring. “The injury isn’t too severe, Mr. Norris. If you’re worried about medication, we have experts in traditional remedies—natural herbs that are much gentler. That said, this level of pain is manageable. But if you prefer…”


    Kristopher didn’t let him finish. “Give her the medicine,” he said firmly. “Let her sleep through it.”


    Carrie swallowed the medicine without protest. Then she closed her eyes, yet her flutteringshes betrayed the fact that she was still very much awake.


    “Do you feel a little better?” he asked, though he knew better than to expect a response.


    As he predicted, she said nothing.


    Still, Kristopher spoke again. “I’m here. If anything feels wrong tonight, just let me know, alright?”


    Carrie considered snapping at him, telling him to stop fussing—but she was far too exhausted. She stayed still, silent, pretending she hadn’t heard him at all.


    Kristopher watched her for a moment longer, then moved to the sofa at the foot of the bed. With a quick call to Oliver, he had his unfinished paperwork brought over.


    The room settled into quiet again, the only soundsing from Kristopher’s work—the rhythmic tapping of keys, the scratch of his pen gliding over paper. It was the same ck Morwick pen Carrie had given him. Ironically, it was the cheapest pen Kristopher owned, yet he treated it like a priceless relic. Wherever he went, it followed.


    Carrie woke with a start, her chest heaving as remnants of the dream lingered in her mind. Her pillow was damp with the tears she’d shed even in her sleep. In the dream, a child’s faint voice had echoed repeatedly, calling out for its mother. She had tried desperately to see the child’s face, but as she reached out, she was pulled awake.


    Kristopher, sitting nearby with hisptop, immediately noticed her stirring. He set the device aside and stood, his eyes soft with concern.


    Her gaze drifted to the ss of water on the bedside table. Kristopher followed her line of sight and picked up the ss. “It’s cold. I’ll get you some fresh, warm water.” He walked to the water dispenser, carefully adjusting the temperature to just right before filling the ss.


    Returning to the bedside, he gently raised the bed so she could sit up and brought the ss to her lips. But Carrie didn’t drink. She took the ss from his hand, her eyes meeting his with a hollow, unyielding stare.


    “Leave,” she said tly. Her voice was quiet butced with an icy edge. “Go anywhere, just not here.”


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