Chapter 471 – Second Chance Love of the Missing Groom Novel

Diarmuid used his contacts and influence to pull up Abigail’s clinic records there.

However, he had no idea what the term ‘biochemical pregnancy’ meant in Abigail’s case file.

The gynecologist there hence told him, “To put it simply, it’s an extremely early case of miscarriage. The embryo would be flushed out of the uterus before the amniotic sac is formed, and it’d look no different from menstrual bleeding.”

In Abigail’s case, her miscarriage coincided with her period, which passed it off as just that.

Diarmuid understood then, just as he realized why Abigail was apologizing while she was drunk.

His mood was affected considerably, though something else concerned him more.

“Would it affect her health?” he asked.

He knew that Abigail had already been hurt during her second pregnancy, and that she could no longer bear another child.

But he was definitely content with both his sons.

The doctor then said, “No, but her health is already not ideal.”

Diarmuid already knew that, so he left the hospital.

…

Abigail did not head straight home after her hospital trip, and instead made a stop to buy some food ingredients.

There were some recipes she was interested in making, and she went to work as soon as she reached home, washing ingredients and slicing them to the right size for serving.

Diarmuid reached home later, and he headed to the kitchen since she saw someone there.

He found Abigail hard at work with an apron tied around her dainty figure.

She was focusing on marinating the meat before dipping it into batter.

She had a photocopied recipe taped on the wall, and she was working as she referred to it from time to time.

Diarmuid entered the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder as he asked quietly, “What are you making?”

Abigail turned, and smiled when she saw him. “Fried butter chicken.”

“A new recipe?”

“Yeah,” Abigail nodded. “I can’t just stick to a vegetarian menu every day, can I? I have to add some variety or you’d all get sick of my cooking.”

Diarmuid suddenly grasped her hands and she struggled. “My hands are greasy.”

“It’s fine,” Diarmuid said, lowering his gaze and holding onto her tightly. “You don’t have to cook. We will eat outside.”

Abigail leveled a perplexed look at him. “I’m already done here. What’s gotten into you? Bad day at work? That’s a bad look on your face.”

Diarmuid said nothing, but he merely kept his hands tightly around her.

He would only feel better, holding her in his arms.

Abigail struggled a little. “I can’t breathe. Let go.”

“I just want to hold you,” he murmured.

Abigail sighed helplessly. “When did you get so clingy? You’re just like Tommy.”

“That’s him taking after me,” Diarmuid replied. “I’m the daddy, y’know.”

Abigail was speechless, but she could feel that something was weighing on him.

As such, she simply stayed still and let him hold her without struggling.

Tommy suddenly ran into the kitchen, and he covered his eyes when he saw them hugging each other. “Shame!”

Diarmuid turned toward his son. “Come here.”

Tommy scuttered toward Diarmuid on his little feet and Diarmuid patted his head, asking, “Were you a good boy today?”

Tommy nodded. “Yes.”

Diarmuid then released Abigail and dropped to a crouch to look his son in the eyes, asking softly, “Are you still upset?”

Tommy shook his head.

Diarmuid picked Tommy up right then. “Alright. Let’s stay here and watch mommy cook.”

“No—outside, both of you. I’d be too nervous because this is the first time I’m cooking this dish, so don’t embarrass me,” Abigail said, wiping her hands before pushing Diarmuid out. “Go watch TV in the living room.”

Tommy clapped his hands happily. “I want to watch TV too.”

Diarmuid therefore had to take Tommy out to the living room, and Abigail made sure that they were watching before returning to her cooking.

She poured and heated a pan worth of oil, and put in the marinade meat now covered in batter to fry it.

However, Diarmuid returned when she was halfway done.

“Why are you here again? Shouldn’t you be staying with Tommy?” she asked.

Diarmuid, however, simply held out her phone to her. “You have a call.”

“From who?” she asked, but Diarmuid simply held it to her ear.

“Hello?” she said even as she gave Diarmuid a dirty stare.

Lulu Adams’s voice spoke from the other end. “Abigail? It’s me. I’m calling you about Ricky… Have you heard from him lately?”

“No,” Abigail answered in reflex. “Was he looking for you?”

“No,” Lulu replied, and was suddenly hesitant. “Oh, nevermind. It’s nothing…”

“Wait, why would you ask about him if he’s not looking for you?” Abigail certainly knew that Lulu would not call her over no reason, and certainly not to ask about Ricky.

She must have news on him.

“Well, he did leave me a letter saying he wanted to make something for himself for leaving,” Abigail continued. “He never contacted me since, and I don’t know where he is. You have to tell me if you have something on him.”

Lulu hesitated for a while and said shortly, “Martin is onto this case… which I think Ricky is involved in.”

Abigail frowned. “He was committing crimes?”

“We’re not sure at the moment, so calm down,” Lulu assured Abigail. “I’ll talk to him when I actually see him.”

Abigail was still worried. “You have to call me if you find him.”

“Yeah. I’m hanging up now,” Lulu replied.

“Okay,” Abigail replied.

Diarmuid lowered her phone at that. “He’s an adult. Don’t worry too much about him.”

Abigail looked up at him just then.

In the past, she was uninterested in her stepbrother, but they grew close since Samantha White’s death, which meant no one was leading him astray.

She was definitely worried since he was out there alone, and they were related by blood in the end.

She even feared that Ricky would strayed to a criminal path.

“Don’t think if you don’t have the facts,” Diarmuid added.

“Yeah, I know,” Abigail smiled at him.

She returned to cooking.

Her first fried butter chicken was a little lean, since she was inexperienced with heat control.

Still, the rest was alright, and it was not that bad overall.

Naturally, it was lacking compared to restaurant food, which were cooked to perfection inside out.

“I’ll cook something simpler next time,” Abigail said, so that it would not be that terrible.

“It’s alright,” Diarmuid said.

“You’re lying,” Abigail said, though she was pleased that he did—her laboring was acknowledged.

Diarmuid then put another piece of fried butter chicken on Tommy’s plate. “Have some more.”

Tommy blinked his large round eyes.

“But Daddy, I’ve eaten so much,” he exclaimed, and grabbed it with his hands to put it on Diarmuid’s plate. “You should eat more!”

Abigail smiled at Diarmuid. “It’s no good after all?”

Diarmuid was speechless, since he just told her that it was alright.

“Then have some more,” Abigail said, and put another piece on his plate.

And Diarmuid could not say anything to that.

Washing the dishes became Abigail’s job as well since Mrs. Watson was not around, while Sheryl was busy with the children.

It was very late after a simple cleanup around the house.

He had a call during dinner, probably something from work that needed seeing to.

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