Kimora pulled on a well-ironed, clean gown and neatly tied up her shoulder-length hair.

She walked to Ward #6, knocked on the door, and got in. The little one on the sickbed curled up into a ball under the quilt. His shiny eyes turned visibly sullen when he saw her.

"As I said, I won't have any injections, go away!"

The six-year-old boy huffed in a milky voice. His pale cheeks were bulging.

Oblivious to his protest, Kimora inserted the syringe into the infusion bottle skillfully and asked calmly, "Give me a reason. If it's fair enough, you won't have the infusion."

The pretty eyes of the little one blinked curiously, "I'm not sick, and injections hurt."

She arched her brow and smiled, "Little boy, whether you are sick or not, it's the doctor's call." While speaking, she picked up the syringe, "See the needle? If you don't have it today, the needle will be thicker and hurt you even more tomorrow."

The little one stared at her hostilely. His face was contorted, "I won't have it. I won't! Don't try to scare me!"

Kimora sighed, "Scare you? I am a doctor. Why do I need to scare a child? None of my patients cried in pain. If you don't have the infusion now, I'll ask a new nurse to do the job. Her skills are hard to tell."

The boy was angry and grieved. His dark eyes looked fixedly on her. After quite a while, he reluctantly stretched his small hand out of the quilt.

She grabbed it unhurriedly, gave him the injection, and soothed him, "Be a good kid. As a patient, you should cooperate with the treatment, okay? If you don't, the nurses will lock you up, and you won't see the sun or the moon again."

As soon as she finished her threat, the door was pushed open, and the clacks from leather shoes came in. Kimora involuntarily raised her eyes and froze there. It was the same man who helped her last night.

"Brother!"

The voice of the little one was milky, crispy, and lovely.

Kimora's face stiffened, "You… you're his brother?"

"Uh-huh." Murphy glanced at her, walked to the boy, and placed a box of desserts on the nightstand.

She thought of what she had just made up, and her earlobes burned instantly.

Shame on her!

She dropped her eyes, forced herself to act naturally, quickly taped the syringe, and went out.

Outside the ward, she heaved a sigh of relief. Embarrassment made her halt her steps and then quicken her pace.

In the office, she sat at the desk and flipped through the boy's medical record. Her eyes landed on several bold characters on the report of the diagnosis: chronic renal failure.

Her face turned gloomy. He was suffering from uremia at such a young age. Even at the largest private hospital in River City, kidney sources were scarce. Matching ones for such a little boy were even fewer.

She folded the file with a heavy heart.

"Dr. Guthrie, the patient in Ward #15 is ready for surgery!" A nurse reminded her. Kimora came to her senses and quickly started the preparation work.

She performed three surgeries in a row. By the time she came out of the operating room, it was already dark outside.

Kimora tiredly changed her clothes. At the gate of the hospital, before she could descend the steps, a swarm of reporters came over with cameras in their hands. Her way was blocked.

She quickly took two steps back, accidentally sprained her ankle, and sobered up a lot.

"What are you doing here? Don't you know this is a hospital?" Her brows furrowed and her eyes were tinted with displeasure.

Obsessed with gossip, those reporters didn't care and hit her with a barrage of questions.

"Miss Guthrie, may I ask if your sister has hooked up with your husband?"