Walter Schmidt's body shook; he turned around, his gaze fixed on his father's retreating back. Even without a word being said, he knew what his father wanted to discuss.
He stood up, leaned down to kiss the woman on her cheek and watched her intently for a long moment before leaving.
Father and son entered a lounge next to the hospital room one after the other. The lounge was luxuriously decorated, spanning nearly a hundred square meters, very spacious.
Elijah Schmidt sat in the sofa, leaning against the backrest, his expression grim and stern.
Walter Schmidt pushed the door open and swept a glance at his father's countenance. Without a word, his tall frame stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back facing him.
"Walter..." After a long silence, Elijah Schmidt finally spoke up, turning his head to look at his son's back, his words trailing off.
