Love Comes Freely, Cherish Every Encounter

Timothy's anxious voice jolted me awake from a nightmare.

Without even changing out of my sweaty clothes, I opened the door.

He looked relieved to see I was okay, but then his expression twisted into anger.

"You didn't answer my calls or reply to my messages, and you didn't even try to escape when there was a fire! What were you thinking?"

I glanced at my phone and saw a slew of missed calls from him.

While I had been asleep, the old wiring in the town had sparked a fire.

Thankfully, it wasn't my house, and the firefighters arrived promptly to control the blaze.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I was just so deep in sleep that I didn't even smell it."

"You must be joking!" Timothy shot back. "With all that noise and the burning smell, how could you possibly sleep through it?"

Given that I had witnessed my mother and stepfather die in a fire, I was particularly sensitive to smoke and the smell of burning.

Timothy usually kept me out of the kitchen, worried I might still be traumatized by my past.

But he seemed to have forgotten all about that since Kaylee returned.

As I glanced down at the mismatched shoes on his feet, I felt a strange warmth.

He still cared about my safety.

But the lipstick mark on his shirt reminded me not to read too much into it.

He was only taking care of me because my mother and his brother had left me with him.

"Maybe I was just too sleepy," I said.

Timothy clearly wasn't buying it. He scrutinized my face for a moment before coldly reprimanding me, "So you're not scared of fire or smoke anymore? It was all just an act before?"

I met his gaze and saw the displeasure in his eyes.

In the past, if something burned in the kitchen, I would panic and reach for the fire extinguisher immediately.

He would hold me in his arms with a smile, reassuring me that I'd be fine as long as he was there.

Now, after being discharged, I slept more soundly than usual, yet he was questioning whether my fears had ever been real.

Trying to suppress my sadness, I forced a smile.

"Just consider it an act. It's getting late. Uncle Timothy, you should get back to your girlfriend," I said.

I hadn't called him "uncle" in a long time.

His lips tightened into a thin line, and emotions flickered in his eyes that I couldn't quite decipher.

"Come with me," he insisted. "I'll get someone to re-inspect and renovate the Wallace Manor. You can move back in then, so you won't have to pretend anymore."

I stood my ground, refusing to leave.

Timothy frowned in irritation. "What's with you? Why have you suddenly changed and become so rebellious?"

I no longer blamed him for the loss of my child or my sense of motherhood. I was ready to leave quietly. Was that being rebellious?

He was the one who had changed, not me.

Just then, Timothy's phone rang.

A soft female voice, laced with both happiness and fear, asked, "Timothy, are you back? Did you knock on the door just now?"

Upon hearing that, Timothy hurriedly left, comforting her gently, "Kaylee, don't open the door! Lock the doors and windows. I'll be home soon!"

When he went downstairs, he realized I hadn't followed.

He came back and grabbed my arm. However, I stepped back, avoiding his touch.

I appreciated that he thought of me when the fire broke out.

Concerned about Kaylee's safety, he immediately got angry and shouted, "Ophelia! You just heard her. Kaylee is home alone! You've been through, so you should know how scared she would be!"

Without letting me refuse, he pulled me into his car.

When he sat me in the passenger seat, he caught sight of Kaylee's stockings and shuffled me to the back seat instead.

To cover his embarrassment, he asked, "Have you lost weight?"

I stroked my belly, remaining silent.

Not pressing further, he slammed the accelerator and sped home.

He overtook cars seven times and cut off others eight times, nearly running a red light.

So, at that time, he was as rushed as he was now, allowing Kaylee, whose skin was red from allergies, to drive quickly to the hospital, which ultimately resulted in an accident and the loss of my child.

His urgency was palpable, much more intense than when I had my acute appendicitis.

Seeing that I was quiet, Timothy ignored me and called Kaylee.

Listening to him croon a love song to her in that deep, soothing voice—once reserved for singing me lullabies—made me get goosebumps all over.

Finally, Kaylee asked him to buy some condoms.

I could hear the change in his voice, now hoarse with desire.

We happened to pass a drugstore. Timothy awkwardly covered his groin with his coat and instructed me to go buy them.

I got out of the car and went to the drugstore.

But when the clerk asked about flavors and sizes, I went silent.

The memory of the seafood incident flooded back, and I called Timothy, embarrassed.

He emerged from the car, his face gloomy with irritation, and strolled toward the shelves.

"Why not just buy them all?" he grumbled.

The clerk defended me, saying, "Sir, have you ever seen a man ask his girlfriend to buy condoms?"

Timothy froze mid-payment, his face turning crimson.

"She's not my girlfriend," he quickly denied.

Once we left the store, he scolded me, "You couldn't even handle something so simple. Aren't you ashamed? I've spoiled you too much!"

Then, pointing to a hotel next door, he ordered, "Go check into a hotel!"

He was the one who had insisted I come home with him and asked me to buy condoms

If that was considered shameful, what did that make him for getting me pregnant in the first place?

As the rain poured down, I felt the cold seep in, and before I knew it, I collapsed onto the wet pavement.

The clerk, witnessing it, shouted after the retreating car, "Hey! Your girlfriend just fainted!"