Chapter 32
About fifteen minutes later, the car slowly rolled into the driveway.
“We’re home, Bryant, I announced as I opened the car door.
Unexpectedly, the man beside me, who was out cold from drinking, slumped toward me as I opened the door.
I frowned, bracing myself to hold him up. “Can you stand up on your own?”
But I got no response.
Left with no choice, I had to wake Emma, who was sound asleep, to help me get Bryant back into his room.
“Mrs. Ferguson, do you need help?” Emma asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“No, it’s fine. Go back to sleep,” I replied, feeling sorry for disturbing Emma’s rest.
After Emma left, I struggled with the nausea from Bryant’s alcohol fumes as I bent over to help him out of his shoes and tie, then straightened up to head downstairs. But as I turned to leave, I found my hand suddenly gripped in his.
“Sweetheart…” he mumbled with his eyes still closed.
I didn’t think he was calling for me. More likely, he had reached a point with Margaret where they called each other endearing terms like that.
I tried to pry his eyelids open. “Bryant, look at me. Do you see who I am?”
“Sweetheart…” He wasn’t cooperating, turning away from my attempts and pulling my hand closer, whispering, “Jane, my wife is Jane.”
My heart skipped a beat. But I quickly reminded myself, thinking Bryant was just drunk. wouldn’t take it seriously. When he was sober, he would only choose someone else.
I pursed my lips, saying lightly, “Is that so? But you don’t even love Jane. Must be tough, being married to a woman you don’t love.”
His words in the office, spoken to Timothy, were etched clearly in my mind.
‘Jane, don’t be foolish anymore.” I told myself inwardly.
“It’s not tough…” He nuzzled my hand, his usually cold face showing a hint of contentment, drunkenly saying. “My wife is great. She’s the best woman.”
“At least your eyes aren’t blind.” I snorted.
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