Chapter 1415:
Jeffry dropped his gaze, concealing the raw anguish flooding his eyes.
Lydia studied Jeffry’s suddenly devastated expression with growing confusion.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
Her tone had softened considerably, carrying the faintest thread of genuine concern. But Jeffry—drowning in perceived rejection and paralyzed by his terror of abandonment—remained deaf to her gentler inflection.
Ethan observed the tension crackling between them before speaking.
“Lydia, the chicken soup is ready. Make sure you drink it. I’m leaving now.”
“Alright,” Lydia responded absently, never bothering to glance in Ethan’s direction. She displayed complete disinterest in his departure.
Pain flickered across Ethan’s features, but he departed without uttering another word.
After Ethan’s exit, Lydia moved to the living room and settled onto the couch. Her face remained blank, her demeanor utterly remote—like an impenetrable fortress no one could breach.
Jeffry stood motionless in the doorway, paralyzed by uncertainty.
Lydia’s brow furrowed with irritation. Why was he planted there like a mindless sentinel? Did he intend to maintain that ridiculous vigil all day? “Come inside and shut the door behind you.”
Her command jolted Jeffry from his stupor. He looked up with startled disbelief. She was inviting him in? Not ordering him to leave?
Lydia glanced toward the open doorway, her gaze locking with his.
Her mood had been soured by her failed attempt to resign, leaving her patience stretched dangerously thin.
“If you’re not coming inside, then go away.”
“I’m coming in!” Jeffry blurted with desperate urgency, terrified she might reconsider, then rushed in and secured the door behind him.
He approached her with extreme caution, his voice tentative.
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“Lydia, let me make you something to eat. Please don’t eat what he made.” Recently, he had taken complete responsibility for her meals.
Lydia had been ready to claim she felt no hunger, that her appetite had vanished. But when she saw the desperate hope lighting his eyes, the words lodged in her throat.
“You decide.”
Jeffry’s expression brightened as though she had bestowed the greatest treasure imaginable.
“It’ll be ready in no time. Just wait here.” Without wasting another moment, he tied on an apron and disappeared into the kitchen.
Lydia couldn’t fathom his enthusiasm. What brought him such obvious joy from cooking? Did he genuinely find that much pleasure in the task?
Jeffry discovered the pot of chicken soup, emptied it without hesitation, and began methodically dicing fresh pumpkin into perfect cubes. He added them to the pot alongside noodles, creating an entirely new dish from scratch.
Since her injuries prevented her from consuming spicy foods, he selected each ingredient with meticulous care, pouring his heart into every step. Within thirty minutes, he had crafted four complete dishes with loving attention. He ladled the steaming soup into a bowl, blew gently across its surface to cool it, and called for her to join him.
.
.
.