Lucie looked at Malcolm awkwardly, then smiled sheepishly and sat down again.
Lyra refocused her gaze on Malcolm, looking at him for a moment while he was still looking down in frustration.
When he looked up and looked away, she quickly averted her gaze and returned to her calm voice,
"You said you are my husband. What can you prove?"
Malcolm thought for a moment, then reached into his trouser pocket for his cell phone. His trembling fingers lit up the screen, opened the photo album, and showed Lyra a picture of the family of four in the lab ward.
Lyra glanced at it. "Photographs can be composited," she said. "If you come prepared, it's normal to prepare this."
The implication was that she didn't believe it.
Malcolm breathed a sigh of relief. The corners of her lips twitched bitterly as he explained, "We have a pair of five-year-old twins. The older brother's name is Spencer, and the younger sister's name is Molly. Because the two children are involved in the future inheritance rights of the White family and Lloyd family, they have different surnames. This matter was decided by you personally."
"A lot happened when you were pregnant with the kids. Your father fell down the stairs and died in the hospital. You were questioned as not the daughter of Lloyd family. All the pain was on you. During that time, you were emotionally unstable and often manic..."
He paused, slowly opened his left sleeve, exposing his strong forearm.
At this moment, the skin of the forearm, because the fist clenched too tightly, had the veins bulging.
Slightly tilting, there were two rows of teeth marks left, which were not very obvious.
Malcolm stroke over the scars with his fingers. His drooping eyelashes fluttered and his voice was hoarse.
"That's because I stopped you from eating oranges. You bit me when you were angry. It was very painful..."
It really hurt.
Nothing made her heart tremble more than the fact that she did not remember him and said she would not choose him.
Lyra turned away, not looking at the teeth marks, feeling a little indifferent.
Lucie looked back and forth, sighed, and shook her head, not knowing what to say.
She couldn't interfere the affairs of the young, and could only listen in silence.
There was a long silence in the yard.
Lyra said slowly, "You can make up a story. Don't think I'll believe you just because you say that. There are so many bad guys out there. If I haven't been more vigilant, I would have believed Anthony a long time ago, and you wouldn't have had the chance to say that now. I didn't mean to pick on you. I hope you can understand."
Her tone was bland, like an interviewer vetting a candidate.
Malcolm remained half-crouched at her feet. His head bowed, and he was silent for a moment.
He didn't know if it was an illusion, but he felt as if Lyra was comforting him.
As if to tell him, she did this to protect herself who suffered amnesia, and let him not be sad.
Within seconds of that thought, Malcolm denied that.
She did not remember him. How can she pacify him? It was delusional, really delusional.
Lyra looked at the depressed man beside her feet, who was still allowing himself to grieve. She asked gently and helplessly, "Aren't your legs tired from squatting like this?"
Malcolm shook his head.
Squatting was not a big deal. If there was no outsiders watching, he can kneel and also slap himself a few times for atonement, until she remembered him.
Lyra asked again, "You just said that you have two five-year-old kids. They are so young. They need their parents. Do you really want to stay here? Don't you go back to comfort the children?"
Her estranged tone was as if ordering him to leave, and she did not welcome him to stay here.
Malcolm froze, shaking his head again, and unwavering.
He was where his wife was .
He was not going anywhere.
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