"..." Annabelle Linton was truly speechless this ti.
But she had to keep up the act. "As long as you like it, that’s all that matters. It makes feel a little less guilty. But... to be honest, this porridge is exhausting to make. I’m never cooking it again."
Leona Grant’s gaze turned icy as he stared at Annabelle Linton. "Never cooking it again? Annabelle Linton, do you think you’re the one who gets to make that decision?"
Annabelle Linton looked at him without saying a word.
"I’ve decided!"
Annabelle Linton crossed her arms, raised an eyebrow, and replied coolly, "Go on."
"From now on, while you’re taking care of until I’ve fully recovered, I want to eat the porridge made by you—and *only* you, Annabelle Linton! For breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Understand?"
’Three als a day, five dollars a al... that’s fifteen dollars a day...’
’The lady at the stall will be thanking for this, won’t she?’
Annabelle Linton put on a troubled expression. "Well..."
"You are not to defy my orders, do you hear ?!"
Annabelle Linton feigned her usual disgust for him, turning back to work on her computer.
Leona Grant’s voice floated over from behind her. "One more thing. I want you to feed . Got it?"
Annabelle Linton shot to her feet, fists clenched. "Leona Grant, don’t you go too far!"
"So what if I am? What are you going to do about it?"
Annabelle Linton was so angry she didn’t even care about her work anymore. With a sharp CLICK, she shut off the lights and went to bed.
There were two beds in the spacious hospital room. The second one had been arranged by Leona Grant for Annabelle Linton.
Annabelle Linton lay with her back to him, telling herself over and over, ’It’s nothing.’
’She had worked in hospice care for a ti before.’
’The patients there were all elderly people with terminal illnesses, savoring the last shred of human warmth and care from the doctors and nurses.’
’So Annabelle Linton would just treat Leona Grant as one of those elderly patients from the hospice.’
And surprisingly, Leona Grant didn’t disturb her.
He watched the stubborn line of Annabelle Linton’s back, his gaze softening.
’And in his heart... he found himself already looking forward to the porridge Annabelle Linton would make for him tomorrow morning...’
...
For the entire next week, Leona Grant—a man who had never eaten food from a street stall or a tiny shop in his life—ate nothing but porridge.
Annabelle Linton diligently gave Leona Grant his injections and dicine, and within a single week, he had made a full recovery.
But he refused to be discharged.
His grand excuse was that he needed to stay for observation, just in case.
「That night.」
The night air was cool. Just as Leona Grant was starting to feel drowsy, he suddenly heard Annabelle Linton’s voice—
"Leona Grant... It wasn’t ! You have to believe !"
Leona Grant froze for a mont, then quickly got out of bed and rushed to Annabelle Linton’s side.
Annabelle Linton’s eyes were squeezed shut. She was clutching the fabric over her chest, tears streaming relentlessly down her face.
"Leona, I didn’t kill Vivian’s baby! You have to believe ! I just brought her a bowl of fetus-preserving dicine... I don’t know why this happened, you have to believe , believe !"
Annabelle Linton sobbed, crying out the words all in one breath.
「In her dream.」
Annabelle Linton had returned to a scene from her past life, just before Leona Grant locked her away in the basent.
She was standing in front of a small, dilapidated door, dressed in tattered clothes, her face haggard as she faced a large crowd of people.
She had nothing left—no job, no inco, not even the guarantee of food or shelter.
Vivian Yates had driven her into the slums, where she lived in a cold, damp house.
That day, she had gone out to look for work, only to be rejected at every turn.
On her way back, she had stumbled upon Vivian Yates, who had collapsed on the ground due to a pregnancy-related complication.
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