Losing child

Suddenly, an ear-piercing scream cut through the dreary air, "Ah! Murder!"

This scream was like a stone thrown into the surface of a calm lake, stirring up layers of ripples, and causing everyone to wake up from a brief moment of disorientation and face the sudden bloodshed and chaos in front of them.

In the midst of the chaos, as if driven by invisible fear, the crowd's footsteps were disorganised, scrambling to be the first to run away, as if there was something unnamable behind them in hot pursuit.

Theobald's footsteps were firm and cold, and he did not hesitate to cross the path of the fallen doctor, whose eyes were hollow and lifeless, and whose body was gradually turning cold.

Without a moment's pause, he continued his unmoved pace, letting the panicked paramedics around him pass him by, their cries of alarm and running turning into muffled background sounds in his ears.

The moment he pushed open the door to the operating theatre, an aura of depression and despair came over him.

His dark eyes were deep, and it was difficult to grasp the emotions contained in them, whether they were celebratory or mournful, complicated and difficult to discern.

This simple gesture was like the unveiling of a truth that he did not wish to face- the

Lisbeth Dawson's child, the little life she had never met, had died without a word.

Inside the operating theatre, a woman in a white gown mottled by blood stains sat alone on the edge of the bed, her figure looking particularly forlorn and helpless.

The pure white dress, which was now coloured with a piercing red, was as fragile and strong as a flower ravaged by the wind and snow in winter.

The woman buried her face deeply into the curled knees between the sobbing sound broken and intermittent, like a lost kitten's murmur in the middle of the night, although weak but gripping the heartstrings, through a different kind of beauty.

Theobald approached slowly, each step on the soft heartstrings.

He gently ruffled her long, satin shoulder-length hair, the touch delicate and smooth, but unable to hide the sadness of its owner at the moment.

"Lisbeth, that's enough, don't cry anymore," his words were gentle and strong, "brother is here, brother will watch over you, all the fault lies with me, I'm the one who is late.Lisbeth, your tears will make brother's heart ache, if you're angry, hit brother, brother is willing to bear all the pain."

Before the words fell, Lisbeth Dawson violently jumped into Theobald's embrace, her whimpering voice was full of self-reproach and grievances, "Big brother, I'm sorry, it's me who didn't listen to your words, I... I shouldn't have left."

Theobald embraced her tightly, his hand patting her back gently, as if he was comforting a frightened her as a child, his voice gentle but unwavering:

"Lisbeth, don't be sad, no matter when or where, big brother is your most solid support. Those words on the boat were big brother's impulses, big brother will never really give up on you. As long as Big Brother still has a breath in him, no one will ever touch a single cold hair on your head.

Every choice you make, every journey you take, Big Brother will be with you, shielding you from the wind and the rain until the end of the world."

Lisbeth Dawson's tears were like broken pearls, sliding down the pillow one drop at a time, her shoulders trembling slightly with her sobs, each sob seeming to pour out inner suffering.

Outside the house, the intensive sound of gunfire was like thunder in the dead of night, a sound that cut through the quiet night sky and sent shivers down one's spine.

Even though Percy Spencer had given her countless scars, those tears in the middle of the night and the forced smile in the daytime were reminding her of the pain she had experienced, but in the softest corner of her heart, the deep and unrequited love for Percy Spencer still burned tenaciously.

She didn't want to see the hands that had once gently stroked her hair, now gripping a cold weapon, and she couldn't bear the thought of more innocent lives being involved in this endless fight because of her own sake.

Theobald looked at the soft but resilient woman in front of him, her request was like a spring breeze brushing against his face, causing the long-frozen lake in his heart to ripple with layers of tenderness.

The corners of his mouth rose slightly, blossoming into a smile as warm as the spring sun, and in his eyes flashed endless doting and determination.

"Good, Lisbeth, go change your clothes first, I will wait here, and when you are properly dressed, we will join hands to get away from this troubled land."

The promise, simple and firm, contained all the tolerance and guardianship he had for her.

Lisbeth Dawson answered softly, and tremblingly picked up the ready garment by the bedside, and attempted to get out of bed.

However.

The continuous exhaustion and emotional fluctuations made her weak body almost unsupportable, and just as she took a step, her feet lost their strength like cotton, and her body involuntarily tilted forward.

At that very instant, Theobald, as if in anticipation, quickly stretched out his arms and steadily swept her into his embrace, moving so quickly that it was almost impossible to see.

"It's better if I do it, Lisbeth."

Theobald's words were gentle but carried a strength that could not be denied, and he shook his head gently, his gaze full of pain.

Fetching a wide trench coat from the side, he carefully draped it over her, as gently as if he were caring for a rare treasure.

Lisbeth Dawson's face was still pale, but there was a hint of gratitude in her eyes, and she nodded slightly, a silent trust in Theobald hidden in her feeble assent.

Suddenly, Theobald bent down and simply lifted Lisbeth Dawson up in his entirety straight away, a sudden move that caused Lisbeth Dawson to let out an involuntary cry of surprise.

"Ah!"

There was both surprise and a touch of shyness in that voice. Such an embrace was undoubtedly intimate and warm, and a flicker of resistance flashed through her mind, but on second thought, in her current weakened state, she would not have been able to move an inch without his support.

So, she gently leaned against Theobald's chest, letting the warmth wrap around her, and took a step towards an unknown but hopeful future.

Theobald noticed her subtle reaction, and a light smile quietly curved the corners of his mouth, his eyes flashing with tenderness and playfulness.

What a sweet little creature, he thought.

There was no need to rush, once Percy Spencer had missed her chance, he could leisurely weave that exclusive web of love. He was confident that in time, emotions would sprout silently and Lisbeth Dawson's heart would eventually open up for him.

This time, he vowed to take her away from the chaos and give her the peace and happiness she had never known.

He took Lisbeth Dawson's small, fragile body into his arms carefully, taking each step with caution, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace of the person in his arms.

Lisbeth Dawson's physical and mental trauma due to the miscarriage, so that she is now in a half-sleep, half-awake, fuzzy consciousness, cheek gently pressed against his chest, breathing gradually even, and ultimately fell into a deep slumber, as if only in the warm embrace, she can find a moment of peace and rely on.