Korbynâs departure left behind a cloud of uncertainty, the weight of recent events hanging heavily in the air
It wasnât Long before another wave of concern swept into the hospital, carried by none other than Harrisonâs distressed mother accompanied by a contingent of Moore family members.
Among them was Addie.
She was Haroldâs younger sister
The voice of Harrisonâs mother trembled with anxiety as she approached Waylen.
âHowâs Harrison?â she implored, her frantic gaze searching for answers.
Her grip on his arm was tight enough to reflect her inner turmoil.
Waylen, despite his own turbulent thoughts, projected a calming aura as he reassured her.
âThereâs no immediate danger, but his recovery might be a Lengthy process, Mrs.
Moore.
Iâll make sure to find the best plastic surgeon.
â
The words âplastic surgeonâ triggered an emotional avalanche within Harrisonâs mother.
Her legs threatened to buckle beneath her as realization and fear collided, intertwining with her maternal instincts.
Amidst this turmoil, a doctor emerged from the emergency room, offering a momentary distraction from the mounting tension.
He provided an update on Harrisonâs condition, the news dispelling the immediate threat to his life.
The Moore familyâs members immediately went in to see Harrison.
Waylen heard the womanâs shrill voice through the passage.
She couldnât accept the fact that her son was disfigured.
Meanwhile, the heaviness of guilt pressed upon Waylen, its weight almost suffocating.
Juliette, always a pillar of strength, offered a comforting gesture, her hand gently resting on his shoulder as she urged him to tend to his own injuries.
âWaylen, attend to your wound.
Iâll stay with Rena.
We canât afford to alarm her when she awakens.
â
His vulnerability peeking through his facade, he Leaned on the wall and rubbed his hair angrily with his hand.
âIâm not in the mood.
â
As much as Juliette empathized with her sonâs anguish, she understood how important Rena was to him.
Leaving him to wrestle with his thoughts, she assumed her vigil outside the emergency room.
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The passage of time seemed agonizingly slow as Waylen and Juliette anxiously awaited news of their Loved ones.
Each ticking second weighed heavily on their hearts, the minutes stretching into an unbearable tapestry of uncertainty.
Two hours had already passed, the hospital corridor standing witness to their collective anxiety.
When the door of the emergency room finally opened four hours later, it was as if the world held its breath.
âHow is my wife?â Waylen hurried up.
The doctor, a figure of hope in their strained reality, removed his mask and faced Waylenââs questioning gaze.
His voice, a measured murmur, held the news they both craved and feared.
âMr.
Fowler, our examination indicates that Mrs.
Fowler didnât sustain significant physical trauma.
However, her brain did suffer a moderate concussion from the impact of the debris.
â An undercurrent of concern ran through his words, his gaze holding Waylenâs as he continued, âOddly, she should have awakened by now, but her response is curiously absent.
Itâs as if her body has entered a state of slumber, a form of self-preservation.
â ©
Waylen was slightly stunned.