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Although she didn't finish her sentence, the message she wanted to convey was obvious
to everyone.
At that moment, the three of them fell silent.
It wasn't until a while later that Caitlin broke it by patting Joyce on the shoulder. “All right
now. Don't overthink it.”
Joyce hummed in acknowledgment. “I know. Anyway, it's getting late. I'm going back in to
check if he has finished his soup and clean up after him.”
“Go on then.” Caitlin nodded.
Joyce subsequently got back to her feet and knocked on the ward door. “Mr. Quinn, it's me.
Can I come in?”
“Go ahead.” Stanley's voice rang out. It sounded calm and didn't carry any hint of
resentment.
Consequently, Caitlin and Jonathan exchanged glances with each other.
Caitlin was now convinced that Stanley no longer harbored any animosity toward them.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtDespite their curiosity as to what the reason was, they had no intention of asking about it.
After all, they were worried that doing so would anger him.
“Jon, should we go in?” Caitlin asked her husband, to which he shook his head.
“No. He blames us for causing the death of his parents. That's why he hates us more than
Joyce. Perhaps his change of heart only applies to her and not us?”
“You're right. Fine, we'll just wait here for her,” Caitlin replied with a smile.
Jonathan didn't comment as he simply held her hand in silent consolation.
Upon entering the ward, the first thing Joyce did was look toward the bed to see if Stanley
had finished his soup.
However, instead of holding a bowl, Stanley had a medical magazine in his hands, taking
Joyce by surprise. “Mr. Quinn, did you not drink the soup?”
When Stanley gestured with his chin toward the bedside table, Joyce spotted the empty
bowl on top of it.
It was evident that Stanley had finished it.
For some strange reason, a sense of delight filled Joyce. Nevertheless, she didn't show it
as she picked up the empty bowl. “Do you want some more, Mr. Quinn?”
Stanley shook his head as he looked at her. “That's enough for me. It was delicious. Did
you make it yourself?”
Joyce looked down to avoid his gaze. “Yes, I did. Thank you.”
“I don't remember you knowing how to make soup,” Stanley remarked with one hand
supporting his head.
Joyce hummed in response. “I learned it from my mom and finally got it after failing a few
times.”
Stanley lifted his chin slightly. “Not bad.”
Tilting her head, Joyce had no idea what he meant by “not bad.”
Is he complimenting me for my cooking skills or the fact that I'm learning to cook from
Mom?
Without giving the matter much thought, she began clearing the tableware. “Mr. Quinn,
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmI'm going to wash the bowl. Feel free to call me if there's anything you need.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Stanley grunted in response.
With that, Joyce headed toward the kitchen with the thermal food jar and basket.
As the room was a high-end ward, it was similar to a suite that had its own kitchen and
amenities.
It was just that the utensils there didn't look particularly clean. Thus, she had prepared the
soup at home and brought it over instead.
Contrary to cooking, washing up there was a pleasure.
While doing the dishes, Joyce suddenly heard a voice speaking outside.
She lightened her movements and turned down the water, allowing her to overhear the
conversation.
In truth, it didn't make much of a difference, as all she could pick up was a few words here
and there, such as which surgery was a success and how much recovery time was needed.
In essence, Joyce was clueless to what was going on.
Nonetheless, she figured that he must have called a patient's family member, as he was,
first and foremost, a surgeon. There was no way a patient's family could call him directly
to enquire about the patient's recovery.
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