CHAPTER 1255

7

Chapter 1255 Turns Out to be Wynter

Later, Reuben learned from a friend that if it hadn’t been for those pills back then, he might have indeed gotten infected.

As Reuben recalled the events of those years, Wynter withdrew her hand. She did not directly answer his question. Instead, her eyes curved into crescent moons with a smile.

“When I first came in and saw you, I was a bit surprised. I

wondered if we had met somewhere before. You donated supplies to Southdale, didn’t you?”

Wynter remembered something while examining Reuben’s body. Many of her memories were missing, just as Atwater had once told her. When she met the right people, some memories would return.

She had always thought Atwater meant she would remember things when she returned to the Quinnell family. She hadn’t thought he was referring to the Whitman family instead.

Reuben’s eyes lit up upon hearing her words. “You were that young lady back then!”

He had thought Wynter looked familiar. It seemed that Wynter was the girl who had given him those life–saving pills!

“It was me.” Wynter also thought it was an amazing coincidence. She tapped her nose, not expecting that she had already had an encounter with Reuben back then.

Reuben straightened his posture. He was thinking of pulling her to sit down, but then remembered his condition and refrained

himself. He didn’t want to pass his illness to others.

“Those were unusual times, I couldn’t find you afterward. I wanted

to thank you personally when the lockdown was lifted, but no one recognized the name you gave me

“Then, I realized you must have been doing good deeds without wanting recognition and gave me a false name.”

Reuben was genuinely happy. “After all the twists and turns, we’ve finally met again.”

“Indeed. Mr. Whitman Senior, your health has declined since I last saw you,” Wynter said, shifting the conversation. “Back then, I advised you not to worry too much, but it seems you didn’t heed my advice.

“Your bodily functions have deteriorated. Your breathing is

disordered, you find no joy in food, you lack energy, and you cough up blood.”

Reuben was impressed by Wynter’s medical skills. She had merely examined him briefly without asking about his recent condition yet had accurately diagnosed all his ailments.

*Grandpa Reuben,” Wynter changed her form of address. “As someone from the younger generation, I want to call you Grandpa.

“Forgive me for being blunt, but treating your symptoms with inhalants or medication won’t address the root cause.

“I can gradually restore your physical health. Yet, a wounded heart can only be mended by tending to its inner wounds.”

Wynter looked at Reuben after speaking.

Reuben was about to pick up his teacup when his hands trembled slightly at her words. He then turned his gaze to Wynter:

“Young lady, your mention of tending to the inner wound to heal a wounded heart had piqued my curiosity. Can a doctor diagnose

such things?”

Reuben had never spoken about these matters to anyone.

Every famous doctor who had visited his home had given similar advice to Wynter’s initial comments. It was always about taking care of his body, eating a bland diet, taking medicine on time, and controlling his temper.

But none had ever mentioned anything about tending to his inner wounds.

“This isn’t something I discovered through examination, but rather something you showed, Grandpa Reuben.

“When I entered the room, you were holding a pen, and there was a letter clip on the table. Underneath it was a photograph.

“You kept staring at that photograph, yet you hadn’t written a single word with the pen in your hand.

“This showed that you had something on your mind, but for some reason, you couldn’t put it into words. Instead, you quietly turned to look at the photograph.”

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