The Years Between Signing and Seeing novel Chapter 205

Soon, it was time for dinner. When Suzie came downstairs, the others were already seated at the dining table.

Margaret bustled over with a show of motherly affection. "Suzie, dear, you must be hungry! Come, come sit next to me. It's been so long since we've all eaten together as a family."

A flicker of unease crossed Suzie's face. As she moved to follow Margaret to the table, Jamie intercepted her, pulling her gently to his side.

"Suzie, sit here."

He pulled out a chair for her like a perfect gentleman, his hand on her shoulder, guiding her to sit. Suzie hesitated, but with Margaret's family all chiming in and urging her to take the seat, she slowly sank onto the chair.

It was ironic. In over two years of marriage, they had never once had a scene like this. Jamie never dined with her family, and he rarely even dined with her. Now, here they were, a group of near-strangers, all pretending to be one happy family.

No sooner had she sat down than Stewart spoke up directly. "Suzie, peel my shrimp for me." He pushed a plate of prawns directly in front of her.

Seeing this, Margaret immediately scolded him. "Don't you have your own hands? Peel them yourself!"

Stewart grumbled, "So what if I'm a grown man? I'm still the youngest. Suzie always used to serve me at dinner. Why can't she now?"

His words left Margaret mortified, as if terrified of what other unfiltered truths he might let slip.

Margaret’s heart leaped into her throat. It was too late to stop Stewart from talking.

Oblivious, Stewart answered proudly, "Suzie is the best. When Mom cooked, she'd always feed me and Ruby first, and she would only eat after we were full. Then, when Suzie learned to cook, she made all our meals. She'd wash the dishes, mop the floors, and do the laundry too."

"And her temper is amazing," he continued. "She never got mad, even when she had to eat cold leftovers. Jamie, you're so lucky you married Suzie. Someday, I want to find a wife who's just as good as she is..."

Stewart suddenly stopped and spun to face his mother, shouting, "Mom! Why do you keep kicking me?"

The accusation hung in the air, and all eyes instinctively shot to Margaret, whose face had turned a mortified shade of crimson. Her son, perhaps due to being born premature, seemed to lack a proper brain. Twenty-one years old and he still had no filter. He was going to be the death of her!