The Villainess Needs a Hug (Ivy Windsor) novel Chapter 918

"What's wrong? Are Floyd or Denis sick?" She assumed something was wrong with the boys, which would explain why he was rushing her.

"No, I just got off early today. I came home and saw that you and the kids weren't here, so I figured I'd call."

"Oh..." Ivy let out a breath of relief. "I'm in a meeting right now. It'll probably wrap up around six-thirty."

"I'll come pick you up, then. Let's grab dinner out tonight."

"What about the kids? Are we bringing them?"

"No, they're too much of a headache."

Two three-year-old boys tearing through the house was pure chaos. They never stopped moving for a single second.

Jamison half-suspected that his illness was brought on purely by the stress of dealing with his wild sons.

Ivy laughed, easily picturing his exasperated expression. "Alright, but you'll probably have to wait a bit when you get here."

"That's fine."

Hanging up, Ivy returned to the conference room and fast-tracked the agenda.

She loved her career, but she would never let it make her neglect her husband.

As for her two sons? Ha, they had an army of people ready to spoil them rotten—their grandparents, Thad, Davina, Katrina, and a slew of extended relatives.

The boys were certainly not starved for affection.

And because Jamison was such an incredibly devoted father, the boys spent way more time with him and usually defaulted to relying on him anyway.

It was only on the rare occasions when guilt crept in that Ivy wondered if she was dropping the ball as a mom, prompting her to spontaneously spend a few hours playing with them.

Jamison didn't call for a driver; instead, he took the wheel himself, driving at a slow, aimless pace.

His mind raced the entire way, a million dark thoughts spiraling out of control.

What if his liver cancer really had come back?

What if this relapse was fatal? What if it couldn't be cured?

And if he died, what would happen to his beautiful wife and his children?

The kids were too young. They wouldn't even comprehend what losing a father meant.

But Ivy. What about Ivy?

Would she be able to survive that kind of devastating reality?

The more he thought about it, the more his eyes stung. A suffocating wave of despair gripped his chest, making it physically hard to breathe.

Pulling into the downtown business district where Ivy worked, Jamison shot her a quick text and sat quietly in the car, waiting.

Over the past few years, between raising the kids and juggling their careers, they rarely had a moment to just sit back and reflect.

Sitting alone in the driver's seat, he opened his phone's camera roll. He had dozens of gigabytes of photos and videos. Slowly, deliberately, he clicked through them one by one.

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