Life comes and goes, and the future is not long.
The past is like clouds and smoke, only full of desolation.
At 9:12 PM, a WeChat message was sent to Emily Watsons phone.
"Emily Watson, Im sending you the location, come and take your husband away, hes drunk and has been pestering me..."
Followed by a location message, it was a five-star hotel in New York City.
Emily Watson smirked at the corner of her mouth, looked at the unfinished IV drip.
She turned her head and looked at the lights outside the hospital, bit her lips, struggled to sit up, used her chin to hold the needle on the back of her hand, and with the other hand, she pulled the IV tube and pulled it off.
Blood stained the white bed sheet, one, two, like poppies, also like this corrosive love.
Emily Watson endured her dizziness, put on her coat, staggered, and drank a packet of antipyretic.
She tried to wake herself up and walked out of the hospital.
She called a car and went to the location of the message.
Standing in the magnificent lobby, she awkwardly walked to the front desk, and Emily Watson tried her best to make her eyes full of luster.
After all... This is his company, she is too embarrassed, its not good for him.
"Excuse me, where is your Mr. Jack?" Emily Watson forced a smile and squinted her eyes.
The receptionist looked at her, her eyes flickering, not knowing how to answer: "Madam..."
For Emily Watson, the word madam is really ironic, just like sugar mixed with poison, she cant quit, but she cant hold it well.
Emily Watson forced a smile, "Its okay, Im here to take him home."
"Madam, Mr. Jack is in the penthouse suite..." The receptionist girl looked very kind and should be inexperienced in the world, and there was some distress in her eyes.
"Thank you." Emily Watson has seen this kind of distressed look many times, thanked her powerlessly, and then turned to walk towards the observation elevator.
Her heart hung up layer by layer like the numbers of the elevator, Jack Dawson this man, is the disaster in her life.
The golden elevator door opened, and Emily Watson stepped onto the soft carpet.
Standing in front of the door, Emily Watson took a deep breath, raised her hand, and knocked on the door.
In a short while, the door was opened, and Sarah Connor, wearing a bathrobe, looked at her for a long time and was surprised: "Emily Watson, why do you look like this?"
Then she stepped aside and let out a position, standing high like a hostess.
Emily Watson had a high fever that didnt retreat, and it was burning again. She walked to Jack Dawson silently, looked at him who was also wearing a bathrobe, and felt a tug in her heart.
She bit her lip and looked at him affectionately, "Mo Han, wake up, shall we go home?" Her voice was very hoarse, but she tried to maintain a gentle tone.
Sarah Connor leaned against the Roman column in the room, with a rose-colored hickey on her white neck, silently stabbing Emily Watsons eyes: "You woman, you are really hypocritical."
"Thank you." Emily Watson didnt want to talk more, what could she say as a sinner.
Jack Dawson on the bed seemed to wake up, frowning: "What are you here for? Have you made a fool of yourself here?"
Emily Watsons dry lips trembled, not knowing what to say, but it was good, at least he talked to her.
Jack Dawsons phone vibrated, he lazily picked up the phone, his face changed in a few seconds, hung up the phone and said disdainfully: "Emily Watson, you have grown a temper."
Emily Watson was dizzy with a high fever, feeling like she was thrown, and her whole body hit the wall.
"Exposure to the media? Want to fight me to the death? Want me to be ruined?" Her hair was grabbed, and Emily Watson was forced to raise her head.
It became difficult to speak, anyway, whatever she said, Jack Dawson would not listen or believe.
It didnt take long, Jack Dawson let go in disgust, wiped each finger with a towel on the bedside table, and then picked up the phone: "Notify the security downstairs, a fly came in, do it yourself."