Chapter 587 Martin Couldn't Do It
Alan needed to go to the company. Following the tumultuous crisis that had rocked the company to its core, and the subsequent stabilization of the situation, there was no room for error. Thus, after a brief stay at the hospital, Alan took his leave.
In his absence, Charles had been excused from kindergarten by the butler, and was now keeping Martin company at the hospital. For the first time, father and son were alone together, spending the entire day in each other's company. Their relationship, as a result, flourished rapidly, blossoming into something more profound than it had ever been before.
Martin's gaze, however, was perpetually drawn towards the door of the ward. Despite his hopeful anticipation, there was no movement at the door. His countenance fell, his eyes darkening with disappointment.
Charles, aware that Dad was yearning for Mommy, felt a pang of sorrow. To alleviate his father's distress, he feigned a stomachache and excused himself. Once in the restroom, he placed a call to Patricia.
This time, Patricia answered.
"Mommy, why haven't you come yet?" Charles pleaded, his voice laden with desperation. "Dad really wants to see you. Every slight movement at the door, he thinks it's you. I know you're still angry with Dad, but he knows his mistake. Can't you forgive him just this once?"
Patricia's response was devoid of anger, her voice sounding lifeless. "Take care of him properly," she instructed, her words implying that she had no intention of visiting.
Panicked, Charles hurriedly asked, "Mommy, what do you want in order to forgive Dad? Do you really want to regret it?"
Patricia curtly replied, "Enough, I have something else to do. You go take care of your Dad!" With that, she ended the call, leaving Charles sighing helplessly on the other end.
Patricia, her heart heavy, returned her phone to her pocket and resumed staring blankly at the soup simmering on the stove. The tears she had been holding back threatened to spill over once again.
She was at a loss.
How had things spiraled out of control like this?
Observing Patricia alone in the kitchen, the butler felt compelled to intervene. "Mrs. Watson, whatever you want to make, tell the chef. There's no need for you to do it yourself," he advised, repeating the same suggestion he had made countless times since Patricia had entered the kitchen.
But his words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Patricia remained silent, not responding to his advice. Just as he was about to give up, Patricia filled a thermos with soup and handed it to him. Her voice choked with emotion, she requested, "Please help me deliver this to the VIP ward in the hospital."
Surprised, the butler asked, "Has your friend fallen ill? No wonder you’re cooking yourself! I will have someone deliver it right away."
Patricia quickly interjected, "Don't let someone else deliver it. You deliver it."
"Me?" The butler was taken aback.
He could personally deliver it.
Was Jade Williams sick?
Patricia nodded. "Yes! I would trouble you to deliver it personally! Remember, don't say that I made the soup. Say that the chef made it!"
Although he didn't understand her specific instructions, the butler complied. Fearing any delay, he hurriedly took the insulated lunch box and headed for the hospital.
Upon entering the ward, the first person he saw was Charles, sitting by the bedside. "Why are you here too?" he asked, surprised.
Charles, who was peeling an apple, looked up and smiled knowingly. "Did my mommy ask you to come?" he asked, his gaze shifting deliberately towards Martin.
As expected, Martin's eyes lit up at the mention of Patricia.
The butler nodded, placing the insulated lunch box on the bedside table. "Your mommy personally..." he began, but quickly corrected himself. "This is a soup made by your mommy in the kitchen; she asked me to bring it over personally. Your mommy..."
His words trailed off as he caught sight of Martin, sitting against the bed. His eyes widened in disbelief, then widened again.
"Sir..." he stuttered, his voice trembling.
He rubbed his eyes, thinking he was seeing things. But when he looked again, his shock turned into delight.
"Sir, it's really you! You're not dead. You didn't die! This is so great!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with joy and relief.
Upon his initial entrance, his gaze was solely fixated on the young master. He failed to scrutinize the patient properly. The patient's hair, grown out unusually long, was a stark contrast to Martin's typical appearance, causing a momentary lapse in recognition. The realization that Martin was still among the living was a shock he struggled to process.
Martin offered a smile, his words laced with empathy. "You've been caring for Mrs. Watson and the others in my absence. It must have been quite the burden."
Tears welled up in the butler's eyes at the acknowledgment of his efforts. As he dabbed at his tears, he countered, "It wasn't a burden. I'm also compensated for my service!" He then handed Martin a bowl of soup, Patricia's cautionary words forgotten in his excitement. "This was freshly prepared by Mrs. Watson herself. Please, have a taste and see if her culinary skills have improved."
Martin regarded the soup handed to him by the butler, a warmth spreading within him as he took a sip. The soup was exquisite. The flavors were expertly extracted, the meat tender and succulent, requiring minimal effort to chew. Patricia's culinary prowess remained unparalleled. Her soups always possessed a distinctive flavor, a taste exclusive to her.
As Martin savored the familiar taste of Patricia's soup for the first time in months, a surge of emotion overwhelmed him. His nose tingled, and a warmth spread to his eyes, filling them with tears.
The butler, witnessing this poignant moment, felt his own eyes brim with tears. "Sir, why have you returned only now? We all mourned you as lost. Mrs. Watson has been shedding tears daily. If not for the young master and miss requiring her care, she might have joined you in grief. Her love for you runs exceedingly deep."
Martin responded with a wistful smile, "I'm well aware of that." How could he not be? It was precisely because he knew that he had been hesitant to reveal himself all this time.
Charles, uncomfortable with the melancholic atmosphere, deliberately lightened the mood. "Dad, I told you Mommy wouldn't neglect you! Look, she's personally cooking soup for you! Since your accident, Mommy hasn't stepped foot in the kitchen! See how fortunate you are."
Martin nodded, a smile gracing his lips. His heart was a blend of sweetness and sorrow.
In the evening, Alan arrived at the hospital to attend to Martin after his shift, allowing Charles to return home for some rest. The hospital was eerily quiet. Martin lay on the hospital bed, his gaze fixed on the stark white ceiling. He fumbled for his cell phone, dialing Patricia's number.
The moment he dialed, a familiar ringtone echoed outside the ward. Martin was taken aback. His mind hadn't fully processed the situation, but he had already flung off the covers and leaped out of bed. He didn't even bother to put on his shoes as he dashed out.
Regrettably, by the time he reached the hallway, the sound of the ringtone had already faded. Patricia was nowhere to be seen in the desolate corridor.
"Alan, take me back to the Ellenstein Villa District," Martin requested. Alan, understanding his thoughts, complied without objection. He drove Martin to the Ellenstein Villa District.
The night had deepened, and tranquility had descended upon the house. The three children had long surrendered to the arms of sleep.
Patricia sat alone on the edge of the bed in the silent bedroom, a sizable cradle nearby. Within it, Maria and Declan lay side by side, their faces adorned with peaceful smiles of slumber.
With her knees drawn up to her chest, Patricia gazed into the cradle, her eyes captivated by the innocent expressions of the sleeping children, her thoughts lost in the quietude.
Unaware of the passage of time, she didn't notice the bedroom door gently opening, nor did she hear the soft tread of Martin's footsteps as he approached.
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