No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 595

On his way back to Meridian Dynamics, Byron hesitated for a moment, then decided to send Ian a quick message: “Mr. Goodwin, Eleanor just stopped by the lab. She’s probably busy with the new medication.”

A curt reply came almost instantly: “Okay.”

Byron wasn’t surprised. That was Ian’s way—always brisk, always to the point.

Meanwhile, Eleanor had indeed returned to the lab to deal with issues surrounding the new drug. One patient had developed an allergic reaction after starting the treatment, and Simone had asked her to come by when she had a moment to review the data together.

For half an hour, Simone and Eleanor spoke with the patient, going over symptoms and details. When the conversation wrapped up, Simone turned to Eleanor, a thoughtful look in her eyes. “Eleanor, do you know if Ian has any relatives or friends suffering from this illness?”

Eleanor paused, thought it over, then shook her head. “I haven’t heard of anyone.”

Simone pulled out a folder, flipping it open to reveal a familiar patient chart. “You remember this case?”

Eleanor took the file and scanned it. Of course—Mabel, the mother of two. She remembered how, after starting the new medication, Mabel’s white blood cell count had steadily fallen, her immune function had improved, and every indicator seemed to be headed in the right direction. Eleanor felt a wave of relief. Mabel was one of Simone’s special cases, and for good reason—she carried a rare genetic mutation.

Eleanor read through the notes again. Mabel’s leukemia was an unusual subtype, extremely rare.

“Professor Langley, this mutation shows up in maybe one in a million people of East Asian descent. It’s not common.”

“Exactly. Sometimes it just sits there in the genes, waiting,” Simone replied, nodding. “Mabel’s leukemia was triggered by a genetic mutation. According to her, her grandmother died of leukemia, so in her case, it skipped a generation.”

Still, Eleanor felt a tightness in her chest.

“Actually, Ian had hoped you’d lead the research,” Simone added quietly. “But he thought it might be too much for you, and he just wanted to protect you.”

A sudden realization hit Eleanor. She looked up, her voice tense. “Professor Langley, did you find something unusual in my mother’s sample? I want to see the data.”

Simone blinked in surprise and shook her head. “We haven’t even started testing the sample yet. Why do you ask?”

Eleanor’s mind flashed back to her mother’s accident. She hadn’t died of illness, but in a car crash. The fact that she’d left her own biological sample behind for research must have been her last act of willpower—a final gift, hoping it might help someone, someday.