Overhearing Mark's acknowledgment of their relationship, Edwin's eyes shimmered with mixed emotions.

The servant motioned to let Edwin inside, but the boy shook his head, bolting away, only to collide with Peter.

Peter, taken aback, said, "You're still ill. Why are you here at the hospital?"

Lips quivering, Edwin remained silent.

Having encountered many children, Peter intuitively sensed Edwin's hesitance. Kneeling down to the boy's level, Peter comforted, "Your great uncle is okay."

"He's my dad," Edwin whispered, before darting away, the servant trailing behind.

Peter's gaze lingered on the boy, reflecting on Edwin's privileged lineage and the hardships he had faced, living humbly in a small rental space for years, where even a simple treat like milk tea was a luxury.

Returning to the ward, Peter found Mark restless.

Gently adjusting the blankets around Mark with a tenderness rivaling that of a spouse, Peter whispered, “Edwin was here. Even in his ill state, he wanted to see you. You need to recover quickly, for them."

Mustering the strength, Mark grinned.

“You're quite the charmer, aren't you? And I hate you! Edwin and Olivia are just kids! And of course I am still young!"

Chuckling, Peter agreed, "Yes, you're still young."

Resting his head against Cecilia, Mark teased, “See, Cecilia? Peter sure has a way with words."

Though Cecilia realized they were jesting to lighten her mood, it only deepened her melancholy. Strong and resilient, she wanted to be Mark's pillar at times.

Silently, she exited the room to gather her thoughts.

Within the dimly lit ward, Mark confided to Peter, "I don't want her burdened with guilt. I'd give everything for Edwin.”

Peter responded softly, "Edwin just recognized you as his father. As for you, playing the martyr might worry Cecilia more. She deeply cares about you.”

Mark's voice was a whisper.

“Peter, it's no act."

Edwin was Mark's flesh and blood; he would go to any lengths to protect the boy.