Chapter 122: Chapter 120: He and She, A Distance of Two Feet (3)
Nora Ainsworth didn’t know how she managed to hold on. All she knew was that she was utterly exhausted, her body wracked with excruciating pain. The moment she opened the door to her rental apartment, she finally collapsed to the floor.
When she woke up, she was still lying on the floor.
But it was already the evening of the next day.
She had been unconscious for a full day and night.
She filled the bathtub with water and, clutching her stomach, got in to wash herself. Afterward, she opened her first-aid kit, applied some antiseptic to her wounds, and wrapped them with gauze. Only then did she grab a pack of instant noodles from the fridge and lie down on the bed to eat.
Every movement sent a jolt through her nerves.
Her head was tilted back, resting on the mattress without a pillow. With every small piece of instant noodle she brought to her mouth, tears streamed down like an unstoppable flood. ’But if I lie back like this,’ she wondered, ’maybe the tears will flow back in?’
She felt like she was about to die, but her rational mind told her she absolutely could not give up on life after fighting so hard to crawl back.
She forced herself up again, put on a hat, mask, and scarf, and under the cover of darkness, took a car to the hospital.
She never once took off her hat and mask. After staying in the hospital for three days, Nora Ainsworth walked out the main entrance with her medication.
Again, she returned under the cover of night.
She had been inside for about five minutes when the sound of a key turning in the lock startled her.
Nora Ainsworth had nowhere to hide, so she crouched down in the narrow space beside the bed.
The familiar footsteps... She could tell who it was just from the sound of their approach.
It was undoubtedly Quentin Grant.
She gripped the bedsheet tightly, listening as the heavy footsteps entered the room. He didn’t turn on the light.
CLICK. The sound of a lighter flicking open. She lifted her head slightly. Wasn’t that his silhouette sitting on the bed?
He was smoking. After finishing one cigarette, he didn’t leave. Instead, he lay down on the bed.
Nora Ainsworth remained crouched on the floor, his sobs reaching her ears with painful clarity. Her own eyes quickly filled with tears, which dripped onto the floor.
To hear him crying on her bed with her own ears, just as she had heard Catherine Callahan say he had fallen in love with her.
The truth, once revealed, hadn’t brought them closer. Instead, it had opened a bloody, gaping chasm that could never be bridged.
’We should never have met. If we hadn’t, I would have already married Leon Lynch by now, and whether he married Sharon Ainsworth or not would have been their own business.’
’Now that things have come to this, whose fault is it, really?’
Nora Ainsworth curled her legs, leaning against the side of the bed. They were only about two feet apart, yet it felt like the uncrossable Pacific Ocean.
He left before dawn.
Only then did Nora Ainsworth climb onto the bed. The sheets were still warm, and she finally fell into a peaceful sleep.
The lingering scent on the pillow just made her nose tingle with the urge to cry.
Goodbye, yesterday. Embrace today. Look forward to tomorrow.
After returning to the Grant Residence, she slept for another two hours before getting up.
At the dining table, most of the Grant family was present.
Mrs. Grant looked like she wanted to say something but hesitated. Quentin Grant ate his breakfast with elegant composure, his head lowered. Jean Grant glanced at her mom, then at her older brother, and finally spoke up, "Mom, for the past two days at every meal, you’ve looked like you have something to say. What is it you want to talk about?"
Mrs. Grant picked up an egg and began to peel it. After a moment’s thought, she finally said, "Quentin, a few days have passed since the incident with Nora. I heard that Catherine is in prison—"
Quentin Grant looked up, his expression unreadable. "Mom, I don’t care who she is. This matter is not up for discussion."
"But back then, Catherine was lost while she was with our family. It’s been so many years. She was taken, and our family owes her so much. How can we ever repay that debt?"
Jean Grant snorted. "Mom, how can you prove she’s the child that was lost? We can only be sure once our godparents are willing to come back and do a DNA test."
Mrs. Grant was fraught with worry. "Even though they have a daughter now, the blow they suffered back then was not a light one. Catherine said she grew up as an orphan, and her adoptive parents told her she was taken from the Grant family as a child. What more is there to say? Only a few close friends knew our family had lost a child back then. It has to be her."
"If they have such a vicious and cruel daughter, I would rather they consider that daughter dead. It’s far better than knowing the truth." He stood up and walked away.
Mrs. Grant watched his retreating figure, her face full of sorrow. "Your brother always means what he says. Jean, why don’t you try to persuade him when you have time?"
Jean Grant stuffed a whole egg into her mouth and mumbled, "Don’t even think about it."
"Can’t a girl eat a little more gracefully?"
Jean Grant chuckled. "This is just how your daughter is. Your future son-in-law can take it or leave it!"
Hearing this, Mrs. Grant said, "You’re not far from graduating. As soon as you do, I’ll start arranging dates for you. We’ll find you a good husband first, and after that, you can do whatever you want. I won’t interfere."
Jean Grant was stunned. "Mom, are you from the dark ages? People choose who they date now. What’s this about matchmaking? I’m not doing it! I have my own plans."
Mrs. Grant huffed. "What plans could a naive girl like you have? Mom will find someone from a good family that we know well, someone worthy of our family. I guarantee you’ll be satisfied. With all this ’dating freely’ nowadays, so many young girls get tricked. They have nowhere to turn to even when they’re crying."
"It’s always about matching social status. Can’t a poor boy and a rich girl have true love?"
Mrs. Grant sat down and began to lecture. "True love? Generally, a poor boy and a rich girl don’t end well. Either the boy has great potential, or he’s just a freeloader. The world is a treacherous place. You don’t like it when I say you’re still young, but Jean, you must not date someone you meet outside our circle. Many men have ulterior motives. Some are only after our family’s background."
"I’m not talking to you about this anymore. Anyway, when I graduate, I have a surprise for you."
Mrs. Grant muttered to herself, "Let’s just hope it’s not a scare."
Ever since seeing Herman Hawthorne in front of Quentin Grant’s villa, Jasmine Walsh had been eagerly waiting for his return.
After waiting for several days, Herman Hawthorne finally returned to the taekwondo dojo.
When Jasmine Walsh heard the news, she put on a nice outfit and, while everyone else was out for lunch, quietly made her way to the door of Herman Hawthorne’s office.
She gently pushed the door open and tiptoed inside.
Herman Hawthorne was busy with work. He glanced up when she came in, then immediately looked back down and continued. "Is there something you need?"
"Boss, do you remember a few days ago I said I had something to tell you?"
"Mmm, what is it?"
Jasmine Walsh suddenly became coy. She fidgeted with her fingers, her head bowed. After thinking for several minutes, she finally said softly, "I’ve known you for a long time, Boss. You just never really noticed me before. I joined the Devil’s Training Camp so I could see you up close. I know you don’t have a girlfriend, and I... I really like you. Could you consider me?"
