Outside the ward, Madison stood by the observation window, quietly studying Cynthia inside.
"See that? She's probably replaying all the people and things that made her furious. She's burning up inside, but you'd never know it from her expression. Impressive control," Madison remarked.
Greta was confused.
Was that really what was going through Cynthia's mind? She couldn't tell at all.
When the door opened, Cynthia spun around. Her eyes locked on Madison with barely concealed hostility. "What now?"
After decades as a high-society wife, the grace she had ingrained by habit still couldn't be hidden entirely.
Madison stepped inside without closing the door. "Just checking if you're about to lose it. That way, our doctor can take notes, and I can report everything to your husband."
So she was being watched.
Cynthia smiled. "I told you, I'm not sick. You're only keeping me here because he paid you. Even if I were perfectly fine, you'd still write me down as insane."
It seemed that Cynthia was no longer putting up a fight or trying to prove her sanity.
Madison found that disappointing. She walked slowly toward the window. "That's too bad."
Cynthia looked puzzled. "Too bad about what?"
Madison didn't answer her.
Following her gaze, Cynthia finally noticed the hospital's back garden—a spacious area filled with flowers that made the air fragrant and alive with the sounds of birdsong. It was a perfect place to spend time alone in silence.
She frowned. "Why can they go outside, but I can't?"
There weren't many people out there. She figured that a short walk might help her calm down.
Cynthia had seen plenty in her life. Since she was already here, crying and throwing a fit wouldn't get her anywhere.

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