As I leaned over to straighten his blanket, I noticed something—his eyelids seemed to twitch, almost as though he had been subtly stimulated by the massage.
Startled, I froze and stared at him, holding my breath. Was he waking up?
But no. His expression remained perfectly still, his breathing steady and deep.
I hesitated, then reached out to touch his eyelids gently, hoping for another reaction. There was none.
“It must have been my imagination,” I muttered, disappointed.
Shrugging it off, I left his room and headed downstairs for dinner. Amanda, the head housemaid, had prepared a simple yet delicious meal of soup and rice. She served it with a professional demeanor, her expression neutral.
“Thank you, Amanda,” I said politely as I dug in. “How long has Mr. Winslow been in this state?”
“Almost two years now,” Amanda replied matter-of-factly, not meeting my gaze.
Her cool attitude didn’t bother me; I suspected she had dealt with many prospective daughters-in-law over the years and saw me as just another one in the line.
“How many daughters-in-law have there been before me?” I asked, curious.
“Six,” she replied flatly.
I nodded, unsurprised.