Chapter 77

Christopher pursed his lips, wrestling with indecision for several minutes. He finally drove home. Was Melody not answering his calls because she lacked her phone, or had she deliberately blocked him? He'd bought her a new phone; if it wasn't at home, she must have taken it with her—meaning she had blocked him. In that case, their argument hadn't given her a chance to reconcile.

But if she wasn't using the phone, how had she spent the past few days in the hospital? Had she been using a computer? With a last shred of hope, he reached his neighborhood.

He took the elevator, opened the door to his apartment, and went straight to the small guest room. The door was unlocked. He pushed it open to find the bed, pillows, and blankets gone, leaving only a bare mattress.

Christopher froze, his heart racing. His back stiffened, and an inexplicable sense of panic washed over him. Why was everything so clean? Where was Melody? Had she run away again?

He spotted a phone on the bedside table and picked it up. It was dusty; the plastic wrap hadn't even been removed. It also bore a small dent from when he'd thrown it. He tightened his grip, trying to calm himself, reassuring himself that Melody was still in the hospital recovering. She'd almost died from gas poisoning; she needed a longer stay. Of course, she would have brought her blankets and pillows from home for comfort. Yes, that was it. It had to be. And she hadn't answered his calls because she lacked her phone—she hadn't deliberately ignored or blocked him.

With these thoughts, Christopher rushed from the room, clutching the new phone. He drove back to the hospital, bypassing the elevator and taking the stairs to the fifth floor. He rushed up, breathless and anxious, his fingers tingling. Despite telling himself Melody must have brought her blankets to the hospital, he couldn't shake the emptiness of the guest room. Everything seemed cleared out; even her cup and towel were gone. Had she really taken everything from home? Was she planning to move all her belongings to the hospital?

The sound of his hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway. Reaching the ward, he pushed open the door abruptly and shouted, "Melody!"

The people inside were startled. Family members quickly stood, shouting, "Who are you? How dare you barge in? Are you going to take responsibility if you scare my elderly relative into a heart attack?"

Christopher stared at the middle-aged woman, then at the elderly patient, his expression blank and stunned. He froze.

"Sorry," he muttered, apologizing.

He backed out of the room and checked the ward number, confirming it was Melody's. His anxiety intensified.

"Excuse me, where's the person who was in this ward before?" he asked urgently, knocking again.

"Are you sick or something? Ask the nurse about the previous patient. Why are you asking me?" the family member snapped.

Christopher snapped out of his daze and hurried to the nurse's station. "Where did the previous patient in Ward 9 go? Her name's Melody Smith."

Seeing his anxiety—his heavy breathing and sweat—the nurse immediately checked the records.

"Melody Smith, right? She did stay in Ward 9," the nurse said.

"Where is she now?" Christopher asked.

"She was discharged yesterday at 8:00 a.m.," the nurse replied.

A stunned silence followed. Christopher would have stumbled backward if he hadn't been holding onto the counter.