Perhaps it was because of the heat, Charlotte Thompson fell asleep unknowingly in the kids’ room.
When she woke up, it was already evening. At first, she gazed blankly at the slowly setting sun, then yawned like someone waking from a dream, and got up from the chair.
She opened the door and tiptoed into the living room. Stopping suddenly, she saw Annie Anne lying sideways on the sofa, her face obscured, betraying no expression.
Oliver Hudson was sitting at the other end of the couch, immersed in thought, his eyes filled with questioning and hesitation.
Charlotte’s gaze shifted and fell upon the mung bean soup on the table.
The disposable spoon remained unopened; nobody had touched it.
A complex emotion flashed across her eyes, then she walked towards Annie, sat down, and asked gently, "Feeling better, Annie?"
Only after her question did Annie stir.
She turned her head slightly to face Charlotte, a slight smile appearing on her lips as she whispered, "I’m fine, what about Annie and Grace..."
At her words, Charlotte sighed in relief. Patting Annie’s hand, which was clutching a blanket, she reassured her, "Annie and Grace got tired and are sleeping, don’t worry."
Meanwhile, Annie sat up from the sofa, a faint sheen of sweat on her face, loose hair sticking to it.
Charlotte reached out, tidying Annie’s hair, then said softly, "Take a rest, I’ll cook dinner, it will be ready soon."
With that, seeing Annie nod in agreement, Charlotte Thompson went into the kitchen.
In the quiet living room, Jordan finally woke up. He walked straight into the living room in his slippers.
He coughed lightly and sat at the other end of the sofa. In the eerily quiet atmosphere, he picked up the remote control and turned on the TV.
Before he could change the channel, an animated film was playing, at least making some noise. ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by Nov3lFɪre.ɴet
Accordingly, the three twenty-somethings, without speaking a word, tuned their attention to the television screen in a tacit understanding.
Beyond the occasional children’s song from the TV and the sound of chopping in the kitchen, no one said anything.
An hour passed, and the smell of food started to waft out from the kitchen. When Charlotte Thompson put the last dish on the table, the doorbell rang.
She wiped her hands on a handkerchief, taking off her apron as she walked to the door.
"Jordan, call the kids, I’ll get the door."
At her words, Jordan, who had been sitting around idly, got up and went towards the kids’ rooms.
With the doorbell still ringing, Charlotte Thompson took her apron off, placed it on the side rack, and went to open the door.
With a faint sound, she opened the door. Upon seeing the familiar face of the man outside, a subtle jolt passed through her eyes.
Her grip on the doorknob slightly tightened. She frowned at the man in front of her, "What do you want?"
At her words, the man’s lips curled into a smile. He chuckled, "Just checking on the kids...well, it’s the weekend."
The man was none other than Justin Battleson.
It was nearly evening. The man leaned against the doorway, basking in the golden glow of the setting sun, which traced the details of his silhouette in a pointillist halo of light.
His usual harsh profile softened under the lyrical light.
Charlotte Thompson’s breath hitched, her long eyelashes casting a beautiful silken shadow across her eyes.
She pursed her lips, hesitating for a few seconds.
She could reject all of Justin Battleson’s requests, but there’s one she couldn’t refuse -
His request to see the kids - she couldn’t argue, nor could she bear to refuse.