My Fiancé Returned... with His Wife novel Chapter 8

My hand trembled as I held the bowl of oatmeal. Just as I was about to respond,

Jessica spoke up, “I didn’t mean to go through your suitcase. I was just trying to get

you some clean clothes.”

I set the oatmeal down and looked at the girl in front of me, who suddenly started

crying. “I stole him from you. He was supposed to be yours. I’ve selfishly kept him for

five years… I’m so sorry, Sienna… I’m really sorry…”

The kind-hearted girl before me was crying so hard she could barely speak. “Jessica,

you haven’t wronged me. Your love is for Ethan, and my love is for the Ethan Harris I

knew. You didn’t steal anything from me.”

“But Ethan is Ethan Harris!”

I shook my head and wiped her tears away. “No, the one who loves you is Ethan. The

one who loved me was Ethan Harris. If I say he isn’t the same, then he isn’t. I didn’t

risk my life to save you just to see you call off your wedding.”

Jessica stayed until Grace returned, leaving with red-rimmed eyes. Grace went to

take a nap in the afternoon, planning to bring dinner later. I never expected that it

would be Ethan Harris himself who would bring the meal.

When he walked in, I was thankful I had put on makeup, but I worried if my wig was

askew. I adjusted it several times while he wasn’t looking.

Inside the insulated container were mashed potatoes, mini dinner rolls, and baked

chicken breast. He must not have known what I could eat, so he made two options.

The biggest surprise was the dessert—sweet potato casserole.

I really wanted to try the baked chicken breast he made, to see if he’d used the right

amount of seasoning this time, but my stomach could only handle a bit of the

mashed potatoes.

I sat on the bed while Ethan stood by the window. Neither of us spoke, but it didn’t

feel awkward at all.

Once, we would wake up from a nap in the late afternoon, I’d sit by the window

playing the guitar, and he’d lie on the bed watching me, not saying a word because

we understood each other so well.

Thankfully, my stomach cooperated today, and I finished the bowl of mashed

potatoes. I reached for the sweet potato casserole, and he walked over to hand it to

me.

“Thank you,” I said.

“No need to thank me. I should be thanking you for saving Jessica.”

The sweet potato casserole, which was supposed to be sweet, tasted bitter in my

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