Chapter 457 I'll Take Care of You in Your Old Age
Anne poked her head out from Willard's arms and found they were completely surrounded.
Perhaps thinking they couldn't escape anyway, the attackers didn't continue after that last blow.
The scrawny man clapped mockingly. "I love watching these tearful farewells. Once I tie up the man and make him watch his woman get sold off, the look of agony on his face—absolutely priceless."
'Sick bastard.' Anne cursed silently, knowing this wasn't the time for insults. She regretted coming here, though she was grateful Elissa and Hope had already left.
"I'm sorry..." she whispered to Willard.
Regardless of their broken relationship or their past, this was her fault. If she hadn't been so stubborn and reckless, she wouldn't have dragged him into this mess.
Most importantly, she'd finally divorced Willard. She didn't want to be entangled with him again over some misplaced sense of debt.
"If we survive this, I'll take care of you in your old age."
Willard laughed—the kind of laugh that comes when words fail you completely. But since she was finally in his arms again, soft and vulnerable, he said nothing.
"Time's up. You've had enough time for your goodbyes. Move in."
Willard suddenly tightened his grip around Anne's waist, shielding her while dodging attacks. But these men had been working the black market for years—they weren't ordinary thugs. Every move was calculated and vicious.
Willard was gradually overwhelmed. Anne watched helplessly as he took blow after blow protecting her, tears streaming down her face.
"Willard... don't worry about me..."
Willard blocked another club with his arm, holding her tight. After catching his breath, his voice was firm, "Never."
Anne tried to break free, then saw a thug raising his club behind Willard.
"Look out—"
"Nobody move!"
Her warning coincided with a commanding shout. Anne saw uniformed officers flood in, pinning all the attackers to the ground.
She quickly checked Willard's injuries, but he caught her hand, breathing still ragged, his voice hoarse, "Don't touch me like that. Need I remind you we're divorced?"
Anne glared at him. 'Now he's making jokes?' she thought.
Before she could respond, Willard collapsed. She lunged to catch him, but his dead weight was too much. Instead of supporting him, she was pulled down with him.
She should have hit the ground, but in the last second, he turned, cushioning her fall with his body.
"Willard?"
Thinking he was conscious, she called his name tentatively. No response. She pinched his side—the soft flesh at his waist. Still nothing. Not even a flinch.
After several attempts, she realized: even unconscious, his instinct was to protect her.
"Mrs. Larson, are you hurt?"
Someone helped load Willard onto a stretcher and checked on her.
Anne shook her head. "I'm fine."
She rode with the ambulance to the hospital, where she found Louis waiting.
"Did you come from Seaside City? Are you psychic now?"
Louis was his usual cold, robotic self. "No. Academic exchange. Coincidence."
He disappeared into the ER without another word.
Anne had little interaction with Louis and nothing to say anyway. She waited anxiously outside the ER, phone in hand but unsure who to call.
Jerry arrived with Hope, who immediately embraced Anne. "It's okay. Don't be afraid."
Anne found her outlet, telling Hope everything in broken fragments.
"It's all my fault... if I hadn't..."
Hope rubbed her back soothingly. "It's not your fault. You did the right thing. They were harming endangered wildlife—that's illegal."
"But he kept protecting me, and when he fell..."
Their relationship was too complicated to explain in a few words.
Hope couldn't judge, only comfort, "As a man, and someone who shared your life for so long, protecting you was the right thing to do. You can remember this kindness, but don't torture yourself with guilt."
Anne clung to Hope, sobbing quietly.
Jerry sent a text. Francis replied: [Busy.]
He pocketed his phone and bought hot milk for the women.
Hope pressed the cup into Anne's hands. "Dr. Armstrong is here—his skills are excellent. Willard will be fine. Drink something warm and don't scare yourself."
Anne apologized, "Hope, I'm sorry for troubling you."
"Don't say that. Elissa's sister is like a sister to me. Elissa can't be here right now, so you can tell me anything."
"Okay."
Hope helped her sit just as the ER doors opened. Anne shot up, spilling the milk all over herself. She didn't care—only Willard mattered.
"Dr. Armstrong, how is he?"
Louis's voice was metallic and cold, "He won't die."
When Anne looked confused, he continued, "All external injuries, but he needs observation for internal bleeding. That blow to his back requires monitoring for spinal nerve damage."
Anne nodded slowly. "Okay."
Louis walked away without another word.
A nurse later informed Anne, "Mr. Larson has been moved to the VIP ward. You can see him now."
Anne rushed to the elevator with Hope following, but Hope stopped at the door.
Jerry caught up leisurely. "Why aren't you going in?"
Hope glanced through the window, then pulled Jerry to nearby chairs. "They need privacy."
Jerry's first instinct had been that this was Willard's scheme—after all, he was desperate and out of options. He'd only come to prevent calls from reaching Francis. But seeing Willard's genuine injuries changed his mind.
"Since that's the case, let's go home and sleep," Jerry said, pulling Hope close. "They don't need us here."
Hope wanted to give them space but was still worried. "Once Mr. Larson wakes up, we'll leave."
Inside the room, Anne stopped short of the bed. Her eyes were still wet with tears, her face full of concern, but somehow she couldn't move forward.
Time stretched as her thoughts wandered—from arriving at the Larson Villa, through their relationship's breakdown, the divorce, and now Willard lying here with an oxygen mask, mist appearing and disappearing with each breath.
She'd never seen Willard so vulnerable. He rarely got sick, and his background meant few dared cross him. The only times he'd been hospitalized this seriously... were because of her.
She'd blamed and resented him for rejecting her confession, for three years of cold marriage. She'd even cursed him. But thinking now—what had Willard done wrong? He simply didn't love her. She'd made too much of it.
But then, why did he love her later?
"Standing there as punishment?"
A hoarse male voice cut through the quiet room. Anne snapped back to reality, her face wet with tears she hadn't noticed.
Willard tried to sit up, winced at the pain in his back, and turned his head to look at her.
"Crying like that, people might think you actually love me."
Anne quickly wiped her tears and pressed the call button.
Louis appeared within a minute, examined Willard, and said, "You woke up earlier than I expected."
Willard glanced at Anne, who stood with her head down, wringing her hands like a guilty schoolchild.
He asked Louis, "I'm fine, right?"
Louis replied icily, "You're in serious trouble."
Willard tried signaling Louis, who ignored him completely.
"Can you sit up by yourself?" Louis demanded.
Willard had already tried—he couldn't. He caught Anne's worried expression and realized that playing up his injuries might help his cause, but he was tired of those tactics. He had already lost all credibility with her.
"I took a club to the back. Of course I can't get up right now. After a night's rest, I'll be fine."
Louis remained expressionless, "Fine. Call me when you can sit up on your own."
He left abruptly, leaving only coldness behind.
Willard wondered again why he and Louis were friends.
"You should go handle your business," he told Anne. "I've assigned professionals to investigate the black market. They'll contact you. I'll also establish a wildlife protection fund—you can do the promotional photos and advocacy. That's all for now. I need rest. Please close the door when you leave."
Anne couldn't possibly leave now.
"Are you thirsty? Do you need water?"
Willard waved dismissively, "I'm fine. There are nurses. Go back to your hotel and rest."
He reached for his phone on the nightstand but couldn't reach it.
"Hand me my phone. I'll have someone drive you back."
Anne didn't reach for it. Instead, she tucked his blanket in properly.
"I'm not leaving. I'm staying to take care of you."
"You don't need to..."
"I promised—if we survived, I'd take care of you in your old age."
Willard should have been happy. They were talking peacefully, and she wasn't drawing boundaries or insisting on leaving.
But somehow, his chest felt stuffed with cotton, each breath shallow and strained. Mist formed and cleared in the plastic shell of his oxygen mask.
"Anne, don't act in ways that might make me misunderstand, or I'll..."
Anne cut him off, "You were hurt protecting me. Taking care of you is my duty. Don't read into it."
She added, "I remember all your kindnesses and I'll repay them, but don't use this to pressure me into remarrying you. Anything else, just ask."
Willard had no intention of using guilt to manipulate her. Past lessons had taught him better. If he didn't use his brain to win her back, how could he succeed?
"Don't worry. What you fear will never happen. What I want is for you to willingly remarry me. Right now, I don't need care. Please leave."
Anne was equally stubborn. Leaving now would torment her conscience.
"I'm not leaving, Willard. If you force me to go this time, I won't take care of you in old age. We'll never see each other again."
Willard's whole body ached, and now his head was pounding too. Even breathing oxygen felt insufficient.
Finally, he gave in, "Fine. Stay if you want. I'm exhausted. I'm sleeping now."
"Okay."
Willard was indeed tired, perhaps from the IV. Soon his breathing became steady.
He dreamed—a beautiful dream where he'd accepted Anne's confession, they'd dated for years, married naturally, and had children. His grandfather was still alive, glowing with joy at seeing his great-grandson.
But it was just a dream.
Anne noticed Willard frowning and smoothed his brow. Seeing mist on his oxygen mask, she leaned close to hear what he was saying.
"Ann... I'm sorry..."
Her mind exploded. She trembled all over.
At the door, Hope saw Louis return to the room and knew Willard had awakened. When he emerged, she asked about his condition.
Louis didn't answer.
Hope sighed in exasperation, "Does Louis never get complaints?"
Jerry laughed, pinching her wrinkled nose. "He gets plenty of complaints, but people beg for his treatment."
Hope didn't question Louis's expertise, but his personality was truly maddening.
Jerry pulled her close, "Alright, he's awake now. It's not our problem anymore. Let's go home and sleep."
Hope had no chance to refuse as he led her to the elevator, then the car, then into continuous kisses.
Only at home, between breaths, could she ask, "This wasn't Willard's scheme, was it?"
Jerry carried her inside, kicked open the bedroom door, and set her in the shower, then began removing her shoes and clothes.
Hope stopped his hands at her buttons.
Jerry raised an eyebrow and tapped his watch, "Honey, I have an early meeting. It's 3,30 AM. Even if you wanted to, I couldn't manage it. Maybe you could use your..."
Hope covered his mouth, glaring.
Jerry chuckled, undressed her completely, and they showered together. Afterward, he carried her to bed, buried his face in her neck, and answered her earlier question in a lazy voice, "Not a scheme. This time Willard was seriously hurt protecting Anne."
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
