When Angela Banks showed up, Trenton Smith had just finished breakfast and sat on the bed with Norris Moore in his arms, playing a game.
"Trenton Smith," Angela Banks looked at them, her pupils constricted for a moment, and then she couldn't help but ask, "Are you with Norris Moore now, and don't care whether Sherry lives or dies?"
Her short hair was a bit messy and embarrassed, her face was bloodless, and her eyes were red, as if she had been crying for a long time, with swollen eye sockets.
"Why didn't you answer the phone?" Angela Banks started crying, "She's been in the operating room for twelve hours now, and she's still not out, the doctor said she cut herself into the artery, and she might not make it. Why did you turn off your phone when I called you last night, which might have been her last?"
"..."
Trenton Smith's face darkened, and he said no more. Norris Moore was sitting in his arms, she pursed her lips slightly, and then let go of Trenton Smith's hand.
