Chapter 2

Before long, Wayne's phone buzzed.

He glanced down at the screen, his eyes softening. He stood up and gave me a casual excuse. "Something urgent came up at the office. I need to step out for a bit. I'll be back soon."

I knew without even looking that the message was from Andrea. Perhaps she thought he had stayed with me for too long, or perhaps she wanted him to bring her something.

In the past, I would have grabbed him and demanded an explanation. But now, I didn't even have the strength to look up. I just gave a flat hum in response.

Seeing that I made no attempt to stop him, Wayne turned and left, clearly relieved. He gently closed the door, afraid of disturbing me, but that thoughtfulness came far too late and seemed insincere.

I didn't know how much time had passed before the door was gently pushed open again. Wayne walked in, carrying an insulated food container printed with the logo of a popular dessert shop. There was a trace of forced tenderness in his expression.

He set the container on the nightstand and pulled up a chair to sit down. "I went out of my way to buy you some warm oatmeal. It's fresh off the stove. Eat some while it's still hot. It's good for your recovery after surgery."

He took off the lid, and the aroma of the oatmeal drifted out, yet I immediately caught the familiar sweet scent of honey. That was something I had been allergic to since birth.

I stiffened. My stomach churned, and my incision throbbed along with it. "Is there honey in this? Don't you know I'm allergic?"

Wayne froze for a moment, then hurriedly scooped up a spoonful of oatmeal to inspect it closely. He said in a casual tone, "Andrea ordered two portions earlier. She has a small appetite and couldn't finish them. This one was portioned out separately and wasn't touched.

"The waiter probably mixed them up while packing everything. The honey was only in her serving. It didn't get into yours. It's fine."

So he had been gone for so long just to accompany Andrea for a meal. This oatmeal, which was supposedly meant to nourish my body, was nothing more than the portion she couldn't finish.

I curled my pale lips into a faint smile. "Are you bringing me her leftovers?"

Wayne frowned, a touch of impatience creeping into his tone. "How can you say that? The oatmeal was completely untouched. Throwing it away would just be wasting food.

"I brought this over especially for you. I was thinking of you the whole time, yet you're nitpicking over such a trivial matter. Andrea just has a small appetite and couldn't finish it. It's not like it's chewed-up leftovers. Can you stop being so sensitive?"

Every word out of his mouth excused Andrea while accusing me of making a big deal out of nothing. I lay on the hospital bed, having nearly lost my life. Yet in his eyes, it was merely me being petty and refusing to show understanding toward his friend.

I dug my nails deep into my palms. The physical pain couldn't compare to even a fraction of the deep despair in my chest.

Just as I opened my mouth to argue, the wooden door of the room was suddenly shoved open.

Andrea stood at the doorway carrying a beautiful fruit basket. Her eyes were red, and she wore the fragile expression of someone who had been greatly wronged.

Her gaze fell on the container on the table, and she let out a soft laugh. Her tone was openly provocative. "Wayne, no wonder a portion of oatmeal was missing when the waiter packed our food earlier. So you brought it to Edith.

"I took two bites of that oatmeal and really couldn't eat another bite, so I had the waiter pack it up. I didn't expect it would still get mixed up. If I had known it would upset Edith, I would have just thrown it away."

Her words hit me like a heavy blow. The oatmeal Wayne had confidently claimed was untouched was nothing but Andrea's leftovers.