“We’ll get a car together soon. I’ll teach her to drive, so she won’t have to rely on taxis to visit me. It’s dangerous, and I can’t stop worrying.” As he lit another cigarette, the brief flicker of the flame illuminated the conflicted expression on his face.
"I shouldn’t have restricted Lisa Welch’s work in the first place. If I hadn’t, she wouldn’t be around me all the time. Annoying."
Just as I opened the door, I caught the last word. The room fell silent for a moment. Oliver stubbed out his cigarette and looked up, his expression unchanged.
"Lisa—how long have you been standing there?"
"I’ve been in the hospital too long, and I’m worried the company might suffer. It’s stressing me out," he said as he casually picked up the soup. But then his indifferent look turned to sudden worry.
"What happened? Why are you hurt so badly?" Oliver lowered his gaze, staring at the redness and swelling snaking from my fingertips to my arm, his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed.
"The soup… it spilled."
I'm not very good at cooking. Oliver always said that dealing with the kitchen fumes should be his job, so over the years, I’ve rarely cooked.