When Love Breaks by jack

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. This content © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

“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.

After marrying into the Ferguson family, I had been perfect toward the elders and Bryant Even if Bryant didn’t love me, he couldn’t fault me there.

I

Bryant mumbled a few more words I couldn’t make out, probably thinking I had left, and drifted back to sleep.

After ensuring he was sound asleep, I freed my hand and went downstairs to make him a hangover soup.

He tended to wake up in the middle of the night after drinking too much.

With this soup, he’d wake up the next day without a hangover.

It might have been a habit formed over the three years. Even though I’d had the divorce papers drafted and I had moved out of this house that no longer felt like mine, I still found myself taking care of him.

As I fished the softened ingredients out of the boiling pot, I finally realized what I was doing, smacking my forehead in frustration.

‘What am I doing?’ I couldn’t believe it.

I wanted to leave, but wasting food didn’t sit right with me either. I would chalk it up to a good deed for the day, like looking after a stray dog. I found a reasonable excuse for myself.

I strained out the ingredients when the soup was ready and carried it upstairs.

I intended to leave it on the bedside table and go, but as I reached the bed, I found myself caught in a pair of lucid eyes.

Startled, I felt somewhat uneasy. “You’re awake?”

“Yeah,” Bryant murmured.

“This, um, I made you some hangover soup on a whim.” Feeling like I got caught do something wrong, I placed the bowl on the bedside table, “Drink it if you want, or jus

throw it out.”

I turned to leave, in a hurry to escape. Unexpectedly, the man, who was too drunk to st an hour ago, suddenly reached out, pulling me back with a firm grip around my waist.

“Sweetheart, can we not get a divorce, please?