No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 620

“I want Daddy to stay with me,” Evelyn declared as she wriggled out of Eleanor’s arms and burrowed into Ian’s embrace.

Ian gathered her up and sat on the couch. With Evelyn nestled against his chest, looking pale and tired, Eleanor found herself unable to object to his staying.

No matter how strained things were between them, their love for their daughter was unwavering.

“Daddy, have you eaten yet?”

“No,” Ian replied quietly, glancing down at her.

Evelyn turned hopefully to Eleanor. “Mommy, can Daddy have dinner with us?”

Meeting her daughter’s pleading eyes, Eleanor finally gave a silent nod.

Joslyn, hearing this from the kitchen, decided to make an extra bowl of pasta since dinner was nearly ready.

Eleanor didn’t leave the living room either; she was more anxious than anyone about Evelyn’s fever. Ever since her daughter’s lung surgery a year and a half ago, even a simple cough was enough to make Eleanor worry.

Ian gently brushed Evelyn’s hair off her forehead, pressing his own against hers to feel for a fever.

In the soft lamplight, Evelyn’s features—so much like his own—seemed even more striking.

The living room fell into a hush. Eleanor sat with her phone, messaging Evelyn’s teacher to ask about her day at school.

“At naptime, Evelyn didn’t want to take off her sweater,” the teacher wrote back. “She woke up sweaty.”

Eleanor thought to herself that this might have been what caused Evelyn’s cold.

Soon, Evelyn was clamoring for a story. Ian fetched a picture book and began reading to her, while Joslyn set the dishes on the table. Watching the scene on the couch, Joslyn’s heart skipped—how familiar this looked: Eleanor nearby, Ian gently reading to their little girl. It used to be a regular sight—a warm family, together.

“Achoo!” Evelyn sneezed adorably at Ian.

Father and daughter broke into laughter. Joslyn couldn’t help noticing how, in this moment, Ian was nothing like the decisive, intimidating man he was at work. Here, he was just a patient, loving dad.

“Ma’am, dinner’s ready,” Joslyn called.

Ian carried Evelyn to the table. Taking advantage of being sick, Evelyn pouted, “Daddy, I want you to feed me pasta.”

“Evelyn, you should eat by yourself,” Eleanor chided, frowning.

But Ian picked up a fork and said gently, “Alright, Daddy will feed you a few bites first—then you try on your own, okay?”

Evelyn smiled and nodded. “Then I’ll feed you, Daddy!”

The two of them started their old game—Daddy feeds Evelyn, Evelyn feeds Daddy—laughing as they went.

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