Seeing her like this, a faint smile appeared on Oliver Thompson's pale face. His furrowed brows, tightly knit due to the pain in his chest, gradually relaxed, and the eyes staring at the woman softened for a moment.
His pale, chapped lips trembled as he took a while to force out a few words, "Rosella, are you worried about me?"
While speaking, his restless hand touched her hair, disheveled from struggling. His broad palm slowly reached the tip of her hair, then moved upward. The next moment, his distinct fingers deeply inserted into her hair, gently swirling. Before Julie Harrison could nod or say yes, his weak breath added, "You said that as long as I'm alive, you would forgive me. Now... I... am alive. Can... can you forgive me?"
His cracked lips opened and closed. Each movement seemed to drain his breath further. The more he spoke, the more difficult it became to speak. By the end, Oliver couldn't even say a complete sentence.
