บททั้งหมดของ Lawfully Wedded Nanny (BWWM): บทที่ 171 - บทที่ 180

The morning sun filtered faintly through the sheer curtains, spilling light across the living room, but it did little to pierce the heaviness in Monet’s chest. She had been sitting in the same spot for what felt like hours, hands wrapped tightly around a mug of lukewarm tea, staring at the faint pattern of the rug. The phone rested beside her, silent. Not a call, not a message, nothing.Every tick of the clock felt like a drumbeat against her ribcage, each one echoing her anxiety, her fear, her dread.She tried to ground herself in the ordinary sounds of the house—the soft hum of the refrigerator, the distant chirp of a bird outside, the faint creak of the floorboards as the kids moved upstairs. But the quiet only emphasized the storm inside her.And then, the chime of the front door rang softly.Florence Abbott stepped into the room, graceful as ever, her presence immediately a warm weight in the space. Monet’s chest tightened, not from fear this time, but from relief.“Monet, darlin

The sun rose slowly, brushing pale light through the curtains, painting soft stripes across the bedspread. Monet didn’t move. Not even to shift beneath the weight of blankets that felt like lead on her body.The world outside the window seemed alive, birds chirping, wind rustling through the trees but inside her room, time felt suspended. Her chest ached, a dull, relentless pain that had little to do with the physical body beneath her and everything to do with the life she had just been told she could not bear. Again. Richard appeared at the doorway, dressed casually but carefully, as though any sudden motion might shatter the fragile glass she’d become. He hesitated, hands tucked loosely in his pockets, eyes tracing her silhouette beneath the covers.“Monet?” His voice was soft, tentative, filled with concern.She didn’t answer. She hadn’t wanted to speak since the night before. Words felt brittle and useless.He stepped closer, kneeling beside the bed. His fingers brushed her h

The house felt hollow without the kids too still, too quiet. Richard hated it.He stood outside her—their bedroom door for a long time, his hand resting on the frame, his mind replaying Juliet’s words.She’s devastated. She feels broken. She’s grieving.He exhaled slowly, uncertain if he was steady enough to walk in, steady enough to see her pain up close.But she was alone. And he couldn’t bear that. So he opened the door.Monet hadn’t moved since Juliet left. Her body curled inward, her shoulders rising with each shaky breath. The curtains kept the room dim, but even in the weak light he could see the dried tears on her cheeks, the silent exhaustion carved into her expression.Richard closed the door gently behind him.He didn’t say anything, words felt too heavy, too clumsy. He just walked to the bed and sat beside her, the mattress dipping a little.She didn’t turn. But he knew she was awake.He could feel it in the way her breath hitched, the way her hand slowly curled in the bl

The house felt different that morning.Still quiet, still soft around the edges, but the heaviness had cracked just a little like sunlight slipping under a door. Monet felt it before she opened her eyes, before she even turned in Richard’s arms.It wasn’t joy. Not yet. But it wasn’t despair either.It was air.Breathable air.Richard noticed it too. When she sat up slowly, brushing her curls back with little tremors in her fingers, he watched her with careful hope.“How’re you feeling?” he whispered.Monet swallowed. “Not okay… but I think… I think I can stand up today.”Richard didn’t smile brightly; he wasn’t foolish, but his eyes softened in relief.“That’s enough.”Juliet Pendleton’s SUV rumbled into the driveway just past noon.Richard had stepped outside to greet them before the children came charging out like a whirlwind. Juliet emerged next, wearing sunglasses that hid tired eyes and an expression too complicated to name.Harvey followed, stiff and quiet as usual.“How is she?

Richard’s office was quiet except for the occasional shuffle of papers and the soft hum of his computer. He’d been there since morning, sleeves rolled up, tie discarded, glasses perched low on his nose as he double-checked every final detail of the Seychelles itinerary.Two days left.Two days until he took Monet away. Really away, where the noise of their lives couldn’t reach her, where she could breathe without watching her own chest rise, where his love wasn’t something the world judged but something she could choose, slowly, at her own pace.His phone buzzed with an email: Flight confirmation updated. Weather forecast clear. Villa prepared. Private beach secured.Good.He wanted everything perfect. She deserved nothing less.He leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t slept much not from stress, but from the quiet awe of waking up to Monet curled against him like she trusted him with her spine.He was smiling to himself when a soft knock landed on his door and Mrs Ha