While chopping carrots, Genevieve accidentally cut her left finger with the chopper. A drop of blood
immediately welled up. Upon seeing this, Scarlette handed her a handkerchief.
Genevieve swiftly wrapped the handkerchief around her wound.
The handkerchief Scarlette gave was light yellow, but it didn't take long for the blood from the wound to
soak it red.
Once Gracie hurriedly brought iodine solution and gauze, Genevieve unwrapped the handkerchief.
Upon seeing that the wound wasn't bleeding, she breathed a sigh of relief and asked Gracie to help
dress her wound with gauze.
Scarlette asked, “The handkerchief is dirty. Would you like me to throw it away for you?”
“No, you're cooking. It'll be bad if your hands are contaminated with bacteria,” Genevieve declined,
putting the handkerchief into her down jacket pocket.
“All right.” Scarlette turned around and continued what she was doing.
After bustling about for over two hours, lunch was finally ready.
It was quite cold outside since it was a couple of degrees below zero today. Gracie arranged for the
children to bring their lunch boxes to the kitchen to get their food.
After the children finished taking their food, the photographers and the field reporters also took a break
from their work to have lunch.
The pervasive smell of cooking oil in the kitchen had long since become unbearable for Scarlette. After
she knew she no longer needed to face the camera, she asked a teacher for directions to the restroom
and left the kitchen.
As Scarlette headed toward the public restroom, she coincidentally ran into two teachers. They were
holding lunch boxes, seemingly on their way to the kitchen to eat.
The two teachers were chatting quietly as they walked.
One of the teachers said regretfully, “Such a beautiful kid. It's a pity to fall ill right after birth and get
abandoned by parents at the orphanage's doorstep.”
“Which child here hasn't been abandoned by their parents?” the other teacher said.
The orphanage once bluntly called an orphan's asylum, initially took care of children who had lost both
parents on behalf of the government. As the number of orphans they took in increased, they started
making the news, attracting more attention.
The mothers who unexpectedly gave birth to children with illnesses, and detested the idea of raising
them, would secretly leave their children at the orphanage's doorstep.
The orphanage was like the final haven for orphans.
Scarlette had no desire to learn about the tragic backgrounds of the children in the orphanage. She
merely listened to them briefly. Then brushed past the teachers and headed into the restroom.
The smell of cooking oil clanged to her body and hair. Even perfume couldn't mask it. It was unbearably
unpleasant to her.
Scarlette washed her hands ten times with soap. After her hands were completely odorless, she dried
them with a paper towel. Just then, her phone, which was in her pocket, rang.
After she almost got overheard by Charlotte while making a call in the company's restroom previously,
Scarlette didn't rush to answer the phone this time. Instead, she left the restroom and headed to the
children's playground.
Once she was sure no one was around her, she answered the phone, “I had a chance earlier, but I
failed to get it.”
“A chance for what?” The person calling her was Zander.
Scarlette held her phone to her ear, lighting a cigarette she had pulled from her pocket. “Genevieve
accidentally cut her finger while chopping vegetables in the kitchen. I gave her a handkerchief to stop
the bleeding, but she didn't return it.”
Zander said, “Now that you mention it, I realize Armand seems really concerned about Genevieve's
bleeding.”
Previously, Zander had a conversation with Scarlette at the golf course, but he didn't recall it then. Only
now did he remember.
“A finger cut heals quickly.” Scarlette took a drag from her cigarette and continued, “Armand's fear of
Genevieve getting hurt, and Genevieve's reluctance to casually discard the handkerchief stained with
her blood, only implies that her health is not good.”
“Hemophilia.” Zander thought of this disease, then rubbed his brows in distress.
If Genevieve had hemophilia, she couldn't afford to bleed. It was no wonder Genevieve was so
cautious, carefully preserving the handkerchief stained with her blood.
She was scared that if someone with discerning eyes discovered her poor health, it would bring about
unnecessary trouble.
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