Chapter 235 – Second Chance Love of the Missing Groom Novel

“He recovered already?” Abigail asked offhandedly.

“No. There’s no way he can when he was so grievously hurt. I just sent him home early to spare him from reprisals.”

Abigail knows that Stephen was referring to Diarmuid, but did not offer any comment because she knew what Yvaine thought about Mick.

“Now, rest. I’ll be going now, but call me if you need help with anything,” Stephen told her.

Abigail nodded.

After Stephen left, Abigail lay in bed for a long while, and took out her phone to call Mrs. Watson, “When you come over, could you bring along the bottle of vitamin pills on my dressing table?”

“Of course.”

Hanging up and putting away her phone, Abigail lay in bed.

Feeling a rush of messy emotions, she closed her eyes as she gently rested her hand on her belly.

Mrs. Watson arrived around an hour later with her food and the bottle of vitamins.

“I made chicken soup. Do drink some.”

Abigail got up as Mrs. Watson served her a bowl of soup.

Mrs. Watson was a good cook as always, and the warm, steamy liquid whetted her appetite.

“I’ve also made some shrimp balls. Have some too.”

“Okay,” Abigail replied.

Mrs. Watson then hesitated for a while, and asked, “Mr. Althoff hasn’t been home for a while… Is everything fine between you two?”

“Of course. He’s just busy with work, and his company’s headquarters is abroad. It’s not easy for him to travel back and forth too,” she said.

Mrs. Watson nodded. “What about Tommy?”

“My mom will babysit him for the time being. I was worried that you’d be overwhelmed.”

“Oh, of course.” Mrs. Watson smiled. “It won’t do to keep traveling from home to here carrying him… I can stay the night here too, since he is away.”

“You don’t have to,” Abigail quickly said. “I’m fine on my own–my doctor said that it’s just fatigue.”

“Very well then.”

After Abigail finished her food and Mrs. Watson cleaned up and left with the lunchboxes, she picked up the bottle of vitamins.

She poured out the pills–they were shaped just like the contraceptive pills she stowed inside, and the scent was more or less the same as well.

However, after she took one, she noticed something unusual.

Contraceptive pills were usually bitter, and she always had to wash it down.

As she developed a habit of doing that, she did not notice that Diarmuid had swapped her pills.

Now that she took it, she felt a fruity taste instead of the usual bitterness.

She remembered that Diarmuid had previously formed a partnership with a pharmaceutical company, and getting his hands on pills could not be easier.

It seemed that he really wanted a daughter, going that far.

As she laughed bitterly, her phone suddenly rang.

She picked it up… and saw that it was a call from Diarmuid!

“Hello?” she answered immediately.

Abigail was actually surprised that Diarmuid would call her first–he never did that after he went abroad twice.

Naturally, it surprised her that he would call her.

“Why…”

“Mrs. Watson told me that you were sick.”

Abigail’s fingers clenched on her phone–he only called because Mrs. Watson told him that she was ill, not because he missed her?

Hanging her head, she said, “I’m fine. I just fainted from fatigue.”

“Are you feeling better now?”

“Yeah, much better. You don’t have to worry.”

“Yeah.”

Silence ensued, and it was so quiet that both could hear each other’s breathing.

Neither of them spoke, but they were not hanging up either.

Eventually, Abigail broke the silence. “You must be busy. I’ll hang up if there’s nothing else.”

“Yeah,” he replied.

However, neither did.

More silence.

Eventually, Diarmuid said, “Let’s just hang up.”

“Yeah,” Abigail said, and did just that.

As she put away her phone, however, she felt unusually calm–as if all her pent–up frustrations and grief all left her.

Perhaps because she worked here, she was not repulsed by the scent of antiseptic.

As she lay down, she groggily closed her eyes.

The night was dark, and the hospital was silent aside from the occasional footsteps.

Abigail was sleeping soundly when the door to her opened, but she did not sense the presence of the towering figure at the door.

He entered, pausing for a second before gently closing the door behind him, and walking straight to her bed.

He watched her sleeping soundly, lifting a brow as he wondered how she was able to sleep so soundly in a hospital.

-Unbuttoning his jacket, he lay in bed behind her, wrapping his arms around her.

Abigail vaguely sensed his presence in her sleep, but soon dozed off again.

“Mrs. Althoff…?”

Abigail was woken by Mrs. Watson’s voice the next morning.

“Yeah,” she murmured as she slowly opened her eyes, rubbing them as she asked, “What time is it?”

“It’s past eight. I was worried that your breakfast would get cold,” Mrs. Watson said.

Abigail suddenly did not feel sleepy at all. “It’s already eight?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Watsons replied.

Abigail promptly sat up, but Mrs. Watson told her, “You should rest–you don’t have to get up so soon.”

“I have to get to work,” Abigail said hastily.

“You’re going to be late anyway.” Mrs. Watson pointed out. “You should take another day off.”

In her mind, she was rebuking Abigail for her skewed priorities–after all, her health was far more important than her career!

As Abigail checked the time and saw that it was just 20 minutes to nine, she paused and decided to take another day off.

She called Stephen to apply for leave before starting breakfast.

After Mrs. Watson, she started to discharge herself–while she was a doctor working at this very hospital, she was admitted according to standard procedure, though Stephen must have arranged for her to be admitted into the VIP ward.

Since she did not have to work, she called Ricky to meet up.

It turned out that he spent the entirety of last night with Lulu at a bar, and Lulu was still sprawled over a table when Abigail arrived.

There were many empty bottles in front of her–she clearly drank a lot.

Ricky was a little better. Aside from his clothes being wrinkled and reeking of alcohol, he was at least conscious.

“Hey Abigail,” he chuckled, his voice raspy.

Abigail popped a bottle of mineral water for him, and he chugged half of it, easing his throat which was parched from alcohol.

Abigail stared at him. “I have a question. You have to be honest.”

Ricky giggled. “Why so serious?”

“I’m not joking here. Be serious,” she said.

Ricky straightened his face. “Ask away. I’ll tell you everything I know.”

Abigail watched as he blabbered, wondering just then if he was actually sober.

“Were you the one who hung those banners on Central Tower yesterday during Zachary’s wedding?”

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