Her Revenge Was His Regret (Shirley and Gilbert) novel Chapter 1

Sherry Bode was rubbing her throbbing temple when Gilbert Bode's voice cut through the hall. "Sherry, Wendy's been in an accident. You're the same blood type. Hurry up and donate blood to her!"

She had just stepped out of the ward next door, still unsteady. "Gilbert, I passed out from anemia. I just came to..."

Gilbert's eyes darkened with rage. "You faint at the perfect time, don't you? Not before, not after—just when Wendy needs you. Stop the act, Sherry."

He grabbed her arm and pushed her into the donation room. "Draw 700 milliliters. For Room 502. Now," he told the nurse.

The nurse hesitated. "Mr. Bode, we can't take that much. 400 milliliters is the limit. And she... she looks pale already."

Gilbert's phone kept buzzing. His voice got sharper. "Who matters more—someone low on blood, or someone who might die?"

The nurse flinched and started the draw.

Sherry's head spun worse than before. "Gilbert, please... I'm so dizzy. Stop this."

Gilbert was already wound tight with tension over Wendy Mack's condition. "Dizzy? From a little blood? If you're going to fake it, at least put some effort in."

She bit her lip until it stung, fighting to stay conscious. "I really am anemic. I shouldn't be donating..."

He gave a cold laugh. "Shouldn't? Or just unwilling? You're always picking on Wendy, but now this is a matter of life and death! How did you become so heartless!"

As soon as the bag was full, he snatched it and turned to leave. She caught his sleeve weakly. "Gilbert... I'm freezing. I feel like I'm dying..."

He shouted right in her face, "You're still looking for attention now? Sherry, you're such a bummer."

He pulled his arm away hard.

She lost her balance. Her head hit the tile floor with a crack, and everything went black.

Wendy and Sherry were rushed to emergency treatment at the same time.

Wendy came out first. "Gilbert, Sherry donated so much for me. Will she be mad again? I'll give the blood back to her right now."

Gilbert felt a simmering irritation. The Bode family had a full nutrition team. Sherry had the best food, the best care. How anemic could she be?

They could build her blood back later, couldn't they?

Why did she have to be so dramatic?

He put a hand on Wendy's shoulder and softened his tone. "An adult shouldn't act like this. She's faking. I wish she had half your sense."

When they brought Sherry out, she just heard their talk. Her hands were clenched.

Her heart ached more than her body.

Five years of marriage—back when the Bode family was still struggling. He worked day and night, always sick, never seeing a doctor.

She learned enough to be his part-time nurse and cook.

But one call from Wendy in the night, and he was gone. If the lights went out while she was cooking, he'd leave her in the dark and run to Wendy.

When she complained, he called her "difficult."

So she learned to keep quiet.

When they went hiking to watch the sunrise together, in the end, she was left alone halfway up the mountain.

Or when a sudden downpour hit at the seaside, they walked back under a single umbrella, while she ran behind them like a drowned rat.

Even on the highway, a single call from Wendy was enough for him to immediately pull over and leave her behind.

And all she got in return was that same label—difficult.

The Bode family's nursing home was built for the Bode family's patriarch.

But Gilbert moved Wendy in to recover.

She slipped her arm through his. "Gilbert, it's so beautiful here. Let's just stay—you and me."

Gilbert gently pulled away. "Wendy, I have to go back. Sherry's not well. She needs care too."

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