The first thing she saw was Christopher’s hand reaching out, his palm hovering above her forehead as if to check her temperature.
Evelyn’s eyelashes fluttered as she slowly opened her eyes. For a moment, her blurry gaze locked with Christopher’s before he quietly withdrew his hand.
“You’re awake,” he said, his voice low and rough, heavy with fatigue. “My Aunt made porridge. Get up and have some later.”
He looked exhausted, his features worn, as if he hadn’t rested properly in days.
As her awareness sharpened, so did the pain. It radiated from her legs, sharp and relentless, but Evelyn endured it. Her voice was soft, almost fragile, as she asked, “If one day I’m gone... will you marry Charlotte?”
Christopher froze, his gaze darkening as he stared at her. His tone turned firm, laced with a controlling edge. “Where are you planning to go?”
Evelyn didn’t answer directly. Instead, she repeated her question, her voice quieter this time. “I mean, if I leave... will you marry her?”
“There’s no such possibility.”