The night was already deep when my grandfather and I finally returned to Coppola's Manor.
My grandfather still couldn't relax. He immediately ordered the family doctor to give me a complete examination from head to toe. He even called in a psychologist, terrified that I might have been left with emotional scars.
They had already prepared a treatment plan for my severed finger. It could be reattached in a few days and restored almost perfectly, even with better flexibility than before.
After everything that happened that day, I couldn't help feeling sorry for my grandfather.
When I carried a cup of warm milk to his room, I saw him through the barely open door.
His face, marked by countless years of hardship, was covered with tears.
"I'm sorry. I almost failed to protect Barbara today.
