His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 53

Clifford pleaded with her, patient and earnest, but Niamh let his words wash over her and drift away. In one ear, out the other.

Everyone expected her to be understanding of Jonathan.

Hadn't she been? She'd given him the benefit of the doubt—over and over again, for three whole years.

And what did she get in return? Jonathan had destroyed their precious first child together, all for the sake of his old flame.

Niamh's face grew paler by the second; her heart felt colder, heavier, emptier.

Clifford was the kindest of the Thomases to her, but at the end of the day, he was still Jonathan's grandfather. Of course he'd take Jonathan's side.

A sudden sense of isolation gripped her—she felt utterly alone.

Clifford went on at length about Jonathan's struggles, how difficult things had been for him. Niamh had heard it all before, so many times her ears were numb.

"Just think it over," he said gently. "Give Jonathan another chance—give yourself a chance, too. But… if you really decide you want a divorce, I'll support you."

Niamh blinked, startled. "Wait, Grandpa—you'd support me divorcing Jonathan?"

She stared at him, wide-eyed, searching his wrinkled, kindly face.

Clifford smiled, warmth softening his features. "From my perspective, of course I'd rather you two stayed together. But I'm not going to force you, or tie you to the Thomas family against your will." He paused, his gaze steady. "I know you and Jonathan aren't splitting up over some petty argument."

Still—he was Jonathan's grandfather. He had to at least try to talk her out of it.

He remembered that day, years ago, when Jonathan was in a car accident. Dozens of strangers passed by, nobody stopped, not even to call for help.

Except for Niamh. She'd called the ambulance, and when traffic jammed the streets and the ambulance couldn't get through, she'd hoisted Jonathan onto her own back and carried him, step by step, until she reached the paramedics.

But for a moment, a quiet voice inside her whispered regret: If only Jonathan could see things this way.

Meanwhile, it was Jonathan who'd hired a nurse to look after Marigold. Still, Marina came by every day, serving Marigold tea, fussing over her, telling silly jokes to make her smile.

"You're so lucky," a patient in the next room told Marigold. "Your daughter-in-law's always bringing you all these healthy treats. That must cost a fortune!"

The truth was, Marigold had recovered ages ago. But with a private nurse and Marina's daily pampering—and everyone singing her praises—she didn't mind staying in the hospital a bit longer.

"Marigold, today's dessert is a nourishing red berry parfait," Marina announced, her laughter lighting up the room.

Ever since Marigold was admitted, high-end meals and tonics arrived at her door—ginseng broth, royal jelly, all top-shelf brands from Elixir & Co., each one more expensive than the last.

But the sender always remained anonymous. The delivery drivers only knew the packages were for Marigold—never who sent them.