"Sophie, quick, tell Uncle—is Sarah sick? Is it serious?" Jonathan patted Sophie's shoulder. "It's okay, stop crying. Take me in to see your mom. If there's a problem, Uncle will fix it. Don't be scared."
Sophie sobbed as she told Jonathan, "Uncle, the doctor said… the doctor said Mom has a brain glioma and only nine months left to live. What am I going to do? Waaah—"
"Nonsense. The last time I saw Sarah, she was fine—her complexion was great. Nine months to live? Some doctor must be scaring you." Jonathan forced a relaxed tone, took Sophie's arm, and walked through the hospital gates with her. "Stop crying. Hurry and take me to her. I'll talk to the doctor."
At that moment, Lara was arm-in-arm with Ned's mother, chatting warmly as they emerged from the hospital. She spotted Sophie—eyes swollen from crying—walking hand-in-arm with Ned's father. "Auntie, look, Uncle's over there. Is he here to pick you up? Hey, isn't that girl next to him my university classmate?"
"You must be mistaken. Ned's dad made plans to play golf with an old friend today—how could he be here?" Victoria said, but she turned to check anyway. To her shock, she really did see her husband's back, intimately holding a young girl's arm.
"Lara, you know this girl? She's your university classmate? Close?" Victoria turned back, full of confusion.
Lara blinked and replied, "She's a classmate from university—we've only known each other about ten days, not close at all. But Archibald said she's Ned's assistant. That's all I know."
Victoria's eyes widened. "What? You said she's Ned's assistant? You begged Ned for ages to let you be his assistant and he refused—how did this girl—why do both Ned and Jonathan know her?" Bewildered, she got into the car with Lara.
"Well, I'm not sure either. She seems really close with Uncle, and they came to the hospital together. Visiting a friend?" Lara's words only deepened Victoria's suspicions. Suddenly, a thought flashed through her mind: Could they be here for an abortion…?
Jonathan followed Sophie to Ward C of the inpatient department, frowning at the chaotic environment. He endured the waves of disinfectant mixed with food odors and even excrement wafting from the rooms. The moment he saw Sarah's pallid face, he was startled. It had only been two months since he last saw her, yet she looked so gaunt. He vividly remembered their meeting at the café two months ago—she had still been so gentle, the hardships of life not diminishing her beauty. Back then, she hadn't mentioned any serious illness.
Sarah was asleep and hadn't woken up, so Jonathan suggested he go alone to the neurosurgeon to get a clear picture and urged Sophie to stay calm and not let her mother suspect anything. With Jonathan's encouragement, Sophie suddenly felt she had someone to lean on. She nodded, full of hope that Uncle would bring good news from the doctor.
In the end, Jonathan returned with grim news. As a well-known aristocrat and member of the elite, the attending physician was unusually candid about the treatment plan: they needed to bring in Dr. Dawson, America's top neurosurgeon, for a multidisciplinary consultation. The surgery would involve a craniotomy to remove the tumor. CT scans showed the tumor was located in the motor cortex, meaning an 85% chance of hemiplegia post-operation. The doctor recommended removing 85% of the tumor to preserve motor function and avoid paralysis, but the downside was a 95% chance of recurrence within two years. Finally, the doctor warned that the surgery itself would cost a fortune, and post-operative recovery and long-term care would require an astronomical sum. If the patient became paralyzed, she would need constant care. In short, the condition was extremely difficult to manage. Given the current pathology, without intervention, Sarah had nine months to live—or less.
Even the attending physician was shocked. A patient with such an aggressive tumor had never experienced common symptoms like severe vomiting or seizures. Most patients couldn't tolerate frequent headaches and would have sought help long ago. How had Sarah endured the pain for so long, allowing the tumor to grow so large that surgery was now so complicated?
After leaving the neurosurgeon's office, Jonathan pulled Sophie to a public bench in the corridor outside the ward. He relayed the doctor's words, comforting her and insisting she not let her mother suspect anything—just tell Sarah the doctor wanted her to rest in the hospital due to poor health. As for the surgery and long-term care costs, she shouldn't worry. He then went to arrange a private room.
Sophie refused several times, not wanting to owe Uncle Jonathan a favor. She had no idea what kind of friends he and her mother were—why had her mother never mentioned him back in Manchester? She worried her mother would blame her when she woke up. But Jonathan was stubborn; once he made a decision, he wouldn't budge. He called his special assistant to handle the paperwork, then moved to a quieter part of the corridor to start making calls to his old friends in America.
"Henry, my brother, long time no see. How's your health these days? Could you help me reach out to that top neurosurgery expert at the hospital in the States—"
"Mrs. Taylor, I've got a favor to ask—could you get in touch with the leading brain specialist at the American hospital for a consultation—"
"Chloe, assistant, please pass on a message—it's extremely urgent—"
…
Watching him frantically making calls for help, Sophie couldn't help but feel waves of doubt. Why had Mom never once mentioned this uncle? What kind of close friends were they, exactly? Once Mom woke up, she'd have to get to the bottom of it. With these questions swirling in her mind, she turned and stepped back into the ward. Mom was already awake, staring blankly at the ceiling. When she saw Sophie, she propped herself up on the bed, trying to sit.
"Sophie, I feel fine now. No need to waste money staying in the hospital. Let's just go home!" Mom was still treating her health like it didn't matter.
"Mom, you scared me half to death when you fainted—woo—" Sophie quickly pressed down on her mother's shoulders, holding her hand and sobbing softly. "You can't scare me like that again. I was terrified." She repeated what Uncle Jonathan had told her to say, but Mom kept struggling to get up and leave. Seeing she couldn't win, Sophie pulled out her trump card. "At the very least, finish a full check-up before we go. Let me feel at ease, okay?"
Sarah had never seen her daughter this insistent. She softened, lay back down, and nodded. "Alright then, let's get the checks done quickly. It's making a fuss over nothing—I just had a headache. How could I be sick?" Sophie swallowed her tears, forced a smile, nodded, and hurried out of the room. "I'll go get the doctor to handle the paperwork." Her voice echoed faintly down the corridor.