Celestine’s gaze drifted lightly across his face, showing no surprise at his sudden appearance.
“Aren’t you already aware?” she said, ending the call with a flick of her wrist.
Chester’s expression soured. “You got sick–why didn’t you say anything?”
He watched her struggling to lift the IV and reached out to help, but Celestine turned away, calmly pulling the needle out herself. “No need to trouble yourself, Mr. Fordham. I can take care of myself. If I’m unwell, I’ll see a doctor.”
Last time she had the flu, the pain had left her bedridden, unable to move. In her weakest moment, she’d sent Chester a message.
And what had he replied?
Oh, right-“If you’re sick, go to the hospital. Do you expect me to cure.you?”
Chester seemed to recall, faintly, that Celestine had mentioned this before–he just hadn’t
realized it was this serious.
His gaze grew complicated. “Celestine, are you angry with me?”
Just then, their two children heard the commotion outside and came running.
They stopped short when they saw Celestine in a hospital gown, shock flashing across their faces.
“Mom, you–you’re sick?!”
Raymond, who hadn’t seen his mother in ages, lit up with joy, only for it to turn to alarm. He hurried over and clutched her hand.
He didn’t like her always nagging him, but he definitely didn’t want his mom to be sick.
Celia lingered at the doorway, her voice barely a whisper. “Mom… why are you in the hospital? Is it because of what I said earlier? Did my words jinx you? No, no, I didn’t mean it…”
Tears welled in Celia’s eyes, panic overtaking her.
Celestine ignored her daughter’s rush toward her, and, latching onto Celia’s words, replied with a cool detachment, “That’s right. Thanks to you, I’ve been struck down by illness. But I didn’t quite manage to die.”
Both children’s eyes reddened at once.
“Ray, Celia, is someone bullying you?”
A worried woman’s voice called from inside the room.
Joanna stumbled out of bed, rushing to them in a panic. But as she reached the doorway, her “weakness” nearly sent her collapsing to the floor.
14:11
Chapter 16
“Miss Joanna!”
Celia and Raymond cried out, dashing away from Celestine’s side to help.
Chester, being closest, caught Joanna just in time.
“You’re still recovering. Stay in bed,” Chester scolded, his brows knitted, though his eyes betrayed nothing but concern.
Joanna blushed with embarrassment. “I’m fine, really. I just got worried when I heard Ray and Celia.”
Celestine watched the scene unfold, a dull ache settling deep in her chest. Love and indifference–how stark the difference was. How could she have ever been so blind?
Joanna seemed just then to notice Celestine, her surprise plain. “Celly, you’re here too? I thought last night you”
She didn’t finish. Chester interrupted coldly, “Celestine, care to explain why your clothes smell like mugwort?”
“Yeah! Mom! Miss Joanna almost died because of your clothes!” Celia piped up, her childish voice brimming with accusation.
Even if Mom was sick, that was her own fault. But Miss Joanna’s illness was definitely because of her!
Celestine lowered her head, dabbing at the back of her hand with a cotton swab. “Because of you two.”
“You said you liked the way I smelled, so I scented all my clothes with mugwort.”
She paused, her gaze settling on Chester. “And you, Mr. Fordham–you noticed too, didn’t you? Or have other fragrances left a stronger impression?”
Fine if the kids had forgotten, but Chester–her husband–had, too. The irony stung.
Chester’s face darkened, and after a long silence, he finally said, “No matter what, Joanna’s illness started because of you. The calligraphy your grandfather gave you–send it to Joanna as an apology. Say you’re sorry, and we’ll put this behind us.”
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