Whispers Turn to Whimpers: Could He Ever Change? novel Chapter 1223

This time, Sherilyn didn’t wake up quickly.

After she was brought out of the ER, she was moved to the observation ward.

She’d just undergone a series of tests, and now they had to wait for the results.

Gilbert sat by her bedside, keeping watch, until Charles arrived.

“Mr. Gilbert,” Charles said quietly, “the lab results are back. Would you like to see the doctor?”

Gilbert glanced at Sherilyn, who was sleeping peacefully, and then got up to follow Charles into the hallway.

His brow was furrowed, tense. “See the doctor? Wasn’t it just a simple sleeping pill?”

“It… doesn’t look like it,” Charles replied, hesitant. “I’m worried I might not explain it well. It’s better if you hear it directly from the doctor.”

“Alright.”

They made their way to the lab.

Gilbert met with the attending doctor. “The pills my wife took—they weren’t just sleeping pills?”

“You could call them that,” the doctor replied, “but they’re not ordinary sleeping pills.”

Gilbert wasn’t familiar with the details, but he had a bad feeling. “There are different kinds?”

“That’s right.” The doctor nodded and hesitated a moment before continuing. “Mr. Harrison, forgive me for asking, but… has your wife been seeing a therapist?”

Gilbert stiffened, his eyes narrowing sharply. “Why do you ask?”

The doctor hesitated, realizing Gilbert probably didn’t know. He explained, “This medication is typically prescribed as an adjunct to psychotherapy. While it does have a sedative effect, on its own it isn’t very effective as a sleeping pill. So, calling it that isn’t quite accurate…”

Adjunct medication for therapy?

Gilbert shot to his feet, his expression darkening like a thundercloud. Saying nothing, he turned and strode out.

“Mr. Gilbert?” Charles called after him, flashing an apologetic smile at the doctor before hurrying to catch up.

“Charles.” Gilbert stopped abruptly.

“Yes, Mr. Gilbert?”

Gilbert strode in. If he didn’t find it here, he’d have to rip apart the entire South Building to get answers.

But he didn’t need to.

Inside the bathroom cabinet, among a clutter of bottles and jars, he found it.

He picked up a bottle labeled ‘conditioner.’ It felt unusually light. Was it empty?

But if it was used up, why wasn’t it thrown out? The housekeeping staff would have tossed any empty bottles.

Yet this one was pushed to the very back, hidden behind others. Something was off.

He twisted off the cap—and shut his eyes for a moment, his face ashen.

Just as he’d feared.

Inside the bottle were two prescription vials.

He didn’t understand all the medical jargon on the labels, but the words were clear enough: these were medications for psychological treatment.