The Perfect Wife's Perfect Revenge novel Chapter 688

Hawthorne gently patted Gwyneth’s cheek, hoping to rouse her, but she didn’t stir at all.

With no other choice, he scooped her up in his arms and laid her on the old wooden bed. He fetched a basin of hot water, wrung out a towel, and carefully wiped her face.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d cared for her like this. Hawthorne had never thought of himself as a particularly attentive man—at least, not until he met her.

Gwyneth was limp as a rag doll, letting him move her as he pleased. Sometimes, the alcohol in her system would make her groan in pain.

He spent the entire afternoon tending to her, brewing tea and coaxing a few sips between her lips, but she could barely swallow any of it.

Resigned, Hawthorne simmered some plain nourishing soup for her in a clay pot. Judging by her condition, she wouldn’t wake until the next day.

He longed to stay by her side, but as he glanced around the room, his gaze fell on a sheet of paper carelessly dropped on the floor. Two words, scrawled in thick ink, leapt out at him.

“Divorce.”

He felt his blood turn to ice.

Hawthorne looked at the sleeping Gwyneth, an emptiness hollowing out his chest. He closed the window for her and tucked the blanket snugly around her shoulders.

After a moment’s hesitation, he stood and left. On his way out, he found the landlady—a friendly woman in her forties.

Her husband worked out of town and only came home for the holidays, leaving her to raise their two children alone.

This area was near a scenic spot, and anyone with a bit of business sense had converted their homes into guesthouses for tourists. During holidays, the place was lively with visitors.

Hawthorne slipped her some money, asking her to look after Gwyneth.

It was only when Gwyneth saw the woman’s face that she realized it was the landlady, not Hawthorne as she’d half-dreamed in her haze.

Dream and reality felt miles apart, and embarrassment crept up on her.

“Sorry for the trouble…”

Even after a full night’s sleep, her head still throbbed as if someone were driving a spike into her skull. One thing was certain—she’d never drink like that again.

The landlady was all warmth, bringing not only the soup but also a couple of salted eggs to go with it.

Gwyneth’s heart was warmed by the kindness. She thanked the woman, then tasted the chicken soup. The rich, comforting flavor nearly brought her to tears.