My Child and I Married a Billionaire novel Chapter 355

Chapter 355: Chapter 355: A Good Person

Damien couldn’t speak, but he could hear their conversation crystal clear.

He was desperate to live.

Driven by a powerful will to survive, he stared intently at Sherry, his gaze unwavering.

After a moment, Sherry found she couldn’t hold his gaze.

"I’ll find another part-time job. I’ll pay you for the medicine. Please, just treat him."

Sherry knew she was his only hope now, and she couldn’t bear to see that hope extinguished. It reminded her of her own situation.

If someone who could save her suddenly appeared in her life but refused to help, she knew she would be devastated, too.

Risa was both surprised and not surprised by Sherry’s decision.

She was surprised because Sherry’s own life was already a struggle, yet she was willing to help a stranger without asking for anything in return.

She wasn’t surprised because, difficult as both their lives were, Risa knew that if she were in Sherry’s shoes, she couldn’t have just watched the man die either.

"One job is already working you to death. If you get another part-time job, you’ll collapse. I’ll treat him. Don’t worry about the money; there’s no rush. Don’t feel burdened by it. Just consider it a prayer for my three children."

Risa wasn’t a local either. She had come to Rivia from abroad to work.

She used to work in a restaurant. Later, to obtain Rivian citizenship and stay permanently, she married a man over twenty years her senior and had three children with him.

The man passed on his medical expertise and the family clinic to her, but he himself fell gravely ill and passed away from an incurable disease.

When Sherry met Risa, Risa had just been widowed. Her eldest daughter was eight, her second was six, and her youngest was barely a year old. The two had always bonded over their shared hardships.

"Thank you, Risa. You’re a good person."

"None of that," Risa said. "This place is too damp; it’s not good for his recovery. In a bit, I’ll go get some firewood to dry out the floor and raise the temperature. We’ll set up a bed for him with some bedding, and you should give him a good bath and change his clothes. That’s about all we can do for him."

Risa gave Damien another dose of medicine, then she and Sherry set to work under the cover of darkness.

The two of them brought in some firewood, a few sets of Risa’s late husband’s clothes, and a folding cot. They spread some dry, old clothes over it to serve as a mattress, and Risa gave Sherry her youngest daughter’s small washtub.

"You can use this to bathe him from now on. I won’t be taking it back. Be careful when you come and go. Whatever you do, don’t let anyone see him."

While Sherry bustled about cleaning the basement, the water she had set over the fire came to a boil.

She went back upstairs, fetched some cold water to get the temperature just right, and placed the tub next to Damien. Then, she reached for his clothes.

Though Damien couldn’t move, he instinctively tensed up.

’There’s a proper distance between men and women. I’m not used to being handled like this!’

And yet, Sherry, a young woman herself, didn’t seem fazed at all.

He was mortified, so embarrassed he kept his eyes squeezed shut the entire time, allowing Sherry to painstakingly pull his clothes off.

To his surprise, though it was clearly a struggle for her, Sherry worked without a moment’s hesitation, her movements surprisingly deft.

It was as if she were a veteran caregiver, so accustomed to tending to disabled male patients that she’d become desensitized. She didn’t see him as a man at all—just a slab of meat.

And in truth, Sherry didn’t see him as a man.

Even though she was twenty, she was completely naive when it came to the opposite sex.

On the contrary, thanks to her father and her male colleagues, she found men to be a repulsive and detestable bunch.

Her willingness to help Damien was, more accurately, an attempt to help the idealized version of herself.

She wouldn’t—and couldn’t possibly—entertain any romantic notions about him.

She treated him like a dirty dish. She lathered Damien up, scrubbed him down from top to bottom as if with a steel wool pad, rinsed him off with clean water, and that was that.

She lifted Damien’s arms, draped them over her shoulders, wrapped her own arms around his waist, and gritted her teeth. With a great heave, she managed to haul him partially upright.

She only had to drag him a few steps to reach the cot.

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