Chapter 139
Her best friend lay on the bed, the blanket tossed aside, shirt bunched up to reveal her waist and stomach, pajama pants hiked to her knees, leaving her calves exposed.
Doctors were supposed to be immune to such sights – male or female, it shouldn’t matter. Yet, faced with this scene, she couldn’t help feeling…awkward.
The air between them grew thick with something unspoken.
Jamison’s expression remained focused. In one hand, he held tweezers gripping a ball of alcohol-soaked cotton; in the other, a slender silver needle.
He dabbed the cotton onto pressure points, disinfecting the skin with methodical care. Then, in one swift motion, he inserted the needle, leaving it standing upright and still.
Katrina watched, curiosity stirring. Dr. Ludwig was young, confident, and – if she was honest – handsome. Did doctors really become immune to the female body after seeing so much of it? Or was he just that professional? Because otherwise, with someone as stunning as Ivy lying there, it was hard to believe he could stay so composed, so detached.
“Put the heating pad by her feet,” Jamison instructed calmly, not even glancing up.
“Oh! Right,” Katrina snapped back to attention, hurrying to place the warm pad near Ivy’s icy toes.
After a flurry of activity, Ivy’s lower abdomen, arms, calves, and ankles were all adorned with tiny needles.
Jamison set the tweezers aside and sat at the edge of the bed. His long, deft fingers pinched the end of one needle, gently twisting and adjusting it.
Ivy, already frowning in discomfort, scrunched her face even tighter. As Jamison worked, the ache and pressure intensified, and a soft, involuntary whimper escaped her lips.
“You’ll feel some soreness and swelling,” Jamison murmured, his tone gentle. “Try to relax and lie flat. If you tense up, it’ll affect the treatment.”
But Ivy couldn’t seem to let go.
Katrina suddenly understood and jumped in, “Um… I’ll go change my clothes. Could you keep an eye on Ivy, please, Dr. Ludwig?”
Feeling like a third wheel, she seized the excuse and made a quick exit.
Eyes closed, Ivy focused on her breathing, struggling to ease the tension in her body. Gradually, she managed to relax.
“Feeling any better?” Jamison asked quietly, studying her face.
Ivy’s lashes fluttered; she managed a faint, wordless sound of assent.
Seeing her drifting, Jamison’s voice softened even more. “If you’re tired, just sleep. Once you’re out, you won’t feel any pain.”
Ivy didn’t answer, but her thoughts were a storm. She was sure of it now – something was different about Jamison today.
Why the sudden shift in his attitude? Was it guilt? Did he realize his nephew had wronged her and now felt compelled to make amends on the family’s behalf?
The questions faded as exhaustion overtook her. She’d barely slept the night before, then spent the day wracked with pain, utterly drained. Now, with the ache subsiding, drowsiness swept over her like a tide – swift and unstoppable.
Jamison watched as she relaxed, her chest and stomach rising and falling in a slow, peaceful rhythm. He could tell she was asleep.
He finally let out a breath and allowed himself to look at her – really look – without holding back.
But his mind churned with questions.
She’d been missing for three years. Rumor had it she’d been locked in a barn by traffickers, her life reduced to misery and chains.
Everyone knew what happened to women taken to those remote, impoverished places: they were bought for one purpose – to bear children, to continue someone else’s family line. Most were treated like livestock, shackled for life. Many were beaten, crippled, even killed.
Some women, after being forced to have multiple children, became numb and resigned. Only then were they released from their chains, allowed a semblance of normalcy. But escaping? That was almost unheard of.
Yet Ivy hadn’t just survived – she’d managed, somehow, to escape after three years, unscathed, untouched, never forced to bear a child.
Jamison couldn’t make sense of it.