Sylvan Cheney put down his phone, silent.
For a moment, the hospital room was as quiet as a graveyard.
Suddenly—
The doorbell of the hospital room rang.
"Come in," Sylvan said indifferently.
"Mr. Cheney, I heard you were ill, so I came to see you," Joan Harry appeared in the hospital room wearing a light blue dress, holding a basket of fruit.
Her demure face reflected concern as her eyes fell upon Sylvan.
"It's nothing."
"How can it be nothing? I heard from the doctor you need to be hospitalized! Mr. Cheney, you can't joke about your health; if there's anything bothering you, you need to talk about it. I'm willing to listen," Joan said with a smile.
She sat on the sofa and peeled an apple.
"I even made you some jujube porridge for nourishing your stomach. You need to take good care of yourself these few days, Mr. Cheney, and not neglect your health."
After peeling the apple, Joan took out the jujube porridge she had brought with her.
