Nestor couldn’t help but notice how Niamh’s expression instantly turned cold.
“Legally speaking, those two people have nothing to do with me anymore,” she said flatly.
And from the look on her face, Niamh clearly didn’t think they would spare her another thought, either.
Nestor just shrugged, letting the subject drop. He’d never been the pushy type.
“By the way,” he said, brightening, “while I was flying in, I heard this hilarious joke. Want to hear it?”
The sudden change of topic caught Niamh off guard. For a moment, she just blinked at him.
But Nestor had always loved telling her jokes when they were kids—he could always make her laugh until her sides hurt.
In fact, Niamh realized, she hadn’t heard a single joke since she’d left the juvenile rehab center.
Jonathan stepped out of Clifford’s private hospital suite and immediately spotted Niamh standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall.
Someone was standing in front of her—a man in a white doctor’s coat, blocking part of her from view.
But Jonathan could see her face.
Niamh was laughing.
It was a wide, unguarded smile—genuine happiness.
Jonathan couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her look so delighted.
“Grandpa’s not even awake yet, and you’re already in such a good mood?” His voice was low, heavy.
Niamh’s smile vanished as if someone had flipped a switch.
Nestor turned around, meeting Jonathan’s eyes.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Nestor asked cheerfully, glancing at Niamh.
Jonathan’s brow furrowed. There was something about Nestor’s manner that suggested he was much closer to Niamh than Jonathan had realized.
“He’s…” Niamh started, but the words caught in her throat.
Technically, she and Jonathan weren’t divorced yet—she should say he was her husband. And to avoid any misunderstanding, she’d need to add that they were about to get divorced.
But if she told Nestor all that, she’d be sharing far too much. It wasn’t so much that she minded Nestor knowing, but she couldn’t risk that information getting back to those two people.
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