I rolled the thread between my thumb and index finger, checking its thickness.
There was no way this thin and delicate thread would hold the wound together properly.
On top of that, it didn’t have the right elasticity to be considered proper suture material.
If the wound splits open after I stitch it, then what’s the point of suturing it in the first place?
As I hesitated, I noticed Lala’s long red hair draped over her shoulder.
Wait a second… hair?
Almost in a trance, I gently picked up a few strands of Lala’s hair and rubbed them between my fingers to check the thickness.
They definitely felt sturdier than the thread.
This might work.
During my internship, I had once seen a resident twist strands of hair to stitch up scalp wounds in emergencies.
That method, sometimes called the “hair twist closure,” had the benefit of using body hair, reducing the risk of infection or rejection.
I looked at Lala and asked,
“Lala, is it okay if I pull out a few strands of your hair?”
She looked nervous but gave a small nod.
With her permission, I pulled out a few strands, poured some alcohol into a small tray, and disinfected them.
Then I twisted them together to make a custom suture thread just for Lala.
“It might hurt a little, but try to hang in there.”
I said that gently, then began stitching the wound carefully with the needle.
Wow… this is harder than I thought.
It was my first time trying to suture with this body, and my hands didn’t move the way I wanted them to.
Even inserting the needle straight down made my hands shake uncontrollably.
I hadn’t expected this issue, but I couldn’t stop now.
I focused all my attention and stitched the wound, one thread at a time.
Each time the needle went in, Lala flinched slightly.
If only I had some local anesthetic from the ER…
Luckily, the skin on the forehead is thinner than other areas, so the pain was probably more bearable.
Lala bravely endured the pain, and I soon finished the stitches and tied them off.
Alright, all done.
Click.
I set the tweezers down and wrapped Lala’s wound with a bandage.
Now she wouldn’t have to worry about sepsis or further infection.
“How do you feel? Are you okay?”
“Huh…? It doesn’t hurt anymore…”
Lala blinked in surprise and gently touched the bandage on her forehead.
“Try not to touch your forehead, and in about a week, when the wound heals, go to any clinic and ask them to remove the stitches.”
“Miss! Thank you so much!”
Right after the treatment, Lala bowed her head deeply with a bright smile.
A real smile, fitting for a child her age.
“It’s alright, Lala. But… can I ask how you got that wound?”
Now it was time for the serious questions.
Sometimes children come into the ER with suspicious injuries. In such cases, doctors are trained to report it to the police and ensure the child’s safety first.
That was what I intended to do.
I gave Lala a gentle smile, reassuring her I wouldn’t tell anyone else.
She mumbled nervously, fidgeting with her small hands.
“Um… well…”
“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Really? You won’t say anything…?”
Lala looked up at me with pleading green eyes, and I nodded with a calm smile.
“…Actually, the wound was caused by Lady Mabel, the head maid at the Duke’s mansion.”
I couldn’t believe my ears.
What? The Duke’s mansion?
My mind went blank at her unexpected answer.
Before I could even respond, Lala continued.
“Ever since the young lady got sick, Lady Mabel’s been really strict. She says it’s our fault she’s not getting better…”
“Wait, what?”
“At first, everyone tried to stay and serve her, but the young lady kept getting angry. So the other maids started leaving one by one…”
Her tiny shoulders drooped sadly. But I needed more information.
“What about the Duke? He just let that happen?”
According to the original story, the Duke—Leopold Blaine—was the one who pressured my father to treat the young lady, threatening his life.
But Lala shook her head slowly.
“Miss, the Duke isn’t at the mansion right now.”
“What?”
“He left to guard the border walls. I think it’s been about four months now…”
She counted on her fingers as she spoke, and I was stunned.
The Duke… is gone?
Has the original story changed?
Well, the fact that we were summoned a whole year earlier than expected already suggested things were different.
If the Duke was away, maybe my father wouldn’t die even if the treatment failed…
Just as I was running through the possibilities—
“Miss, are you going to the Duke’s mansion?”
“Huh? Oh, yes.”
“…To treat the young lady?”
Lala hesitated as she nervously fidgeted with her hands.
She must have figured it out from the medical tools inside the carriage.
When I nodded slightly, she asked with a worried look,
“Do you really have to go?”
“Ah… it’s just that we were officially invited by the Duke’s house, so it’s hard to say no now—”
I was trying to explain when she cut me off.
“Even if the doctors never come back?”
She looked at me with deep, anxious eyes.
…So the future really is happening no matter what?
In my memories, the one who punished the doctors was the Duke—Leopold Blaine.
But if he wasn’t even there, and doctors were still in danger…
What on earth was happening in that mansion without him?
Right then, the carriage door burst open—and my father appeared, breathless and wide-eyed.
“Adelia! Get the blankets—quickly!”
Behind him, Traven was carrying a woman on his back—presumably Lala’s mother—unconscious.
***
“Mom!”
Lala ran to her mother in a panic. I quickly spread out a blanket on the carriage floor.
As soon as Traven laid her mother down, Dad grabbed some tools and began examining her.
“It’s nothing too serious. She must’ve passed out from being in the cold too long.”
After checking her consciousness, Dad gently covered her with another blanket.
Her hands and feet were pale, with slight frostbite.
I checked her body for other injuries.
Just as I thought.
Her ankle was red and swollen under the blanket.
Lala said she had to run away through the snow to escape the head maid… It could be a sprain or ligament rupture.
If she were conscious, we could check the joints and muscles more precisely, but with her current condition, we didn’t have that option.
Still, the swelling alone meant we needed to wrap and stabilize her ankle immediately.
I turned to Dad.
“Dad, here… look at this.”
I pointed at the ankle, and Dad frowned as he examined it.
“Traven, could you go outside and bring in some snow?”
“Huh? Snow?”
Traven blinked in confusion, not understanding why we needed snow after just bringing in an unconscious person.
“Hurry!”
“Y-yes, sir!”
Traven quickly shut the door and ran off.
Moments later, he returned with a bucket full of snow.
Dad carefully packed some snow around her ankle, making sure not to cause frostbite, and removed it after some time to reduce the swelling.
Wow, that’s perfect.
Considering how recent the injury was, cold therapy was the right move.
And with her unconscious, reducing the swelling first was the best approach.
Once the ice pack was done, Dad wrapped the ankle in a bandage to keep it stable.
The only issue… is that he wrapped it wrong.
He wrapped it wrong?