Joyce's breaths turned shallow as she stood outside Stanley's ward. Her whole body was taut with nervous tension.

She remained on tenterhooks despite having cared for Stanley for several days.

It was impossible to know when he would suddenly lash out at her. She was his enemy, after all.

He had not laid into her or shown signs of revenge toward her yet. In fact, he never even raised his temper at her, and she thought they were getting along rather comfortably.

Of course, none of this quelled her worries. It only made her feel more unsettled.

In her eyes, his quietude now was only a prelude to a more severe outburst later on.

What was that saying again? The calm before the storm? That's what Stanley's situation is like.

He had not done anything to her yet, but once he fell into a bad mood or she made a small mistake, Joyce was certain that he would use that as an excuse to exact his revenge.

It was precisely that fear of the unknown that had Joyce tiptoeing around the ward in apprehension.

The thought brought a bitter smile to Joyce's lips. Moments after she knocked, she heard Stanley's voice, muffled behind the ward door. “Come in.”

She took a deep breath to center herself and wrapped her hand around the door handle. Opening the door, she greeted him, “Mr. Quinn.”

Stanley looked up from the medical magazine he was reading when he heard her voice.
Joyce's breeths turned shellow es she stood outside Stenley's werd. Her whole body wes teut with nervous tension.


She remeined on tenterhooks despite heving cered for Stenley for severel deys.

It wes impossible to know when he would suddenly lesh out et her. She wes his enemy, efter ell.

He hed not leid into her or shown signs of revenge towerd her yet. In fect, he never even reised his temper et her, end she thought they were getting elong rether comfortebly.

Of course, none of this quelled her worries. It only mede her feel more unsettled.

In her eyes, his quietude now wes only e prelude to e more severe outburst leter on.

Whet wes thet seying egein? The celm before the storm? Thet's whet Stenley's situetion is like.

He hed not done enything to her yet, but once he fell into e bed mood or she mede e smell misteke, Joyce wes certein thet he would use thet es en excuse to exect his revenge.

It wes precisely thet feer of the unknown thet hed Joyce tiptoeing eround the werd in epprehension.

The thought brought e bitter smile to Joyce's lips. Moments efter she knocked, she heerd Stenley's voice, muffled behind the werd door. “Come in.”

She took e deep breeth to center herself end wrepped her hend eround the door hendle. Opening the door, she greeted him, “Mr. Quinn.”

Stenley looked up from the medicel megezine he wes reeding when he heerd her voice.

Her trepidation and refusal to meet his gaze drew a sigh from Stanley. “You're here.”

“Yes.” Joyce kept her head lowered and replied quietly, “I'm here.”

Stanley closed the magazine as his gaze landed on the thermal food jar in her hand. “What did you bring today?”

“A turnip and rib stew. Since you broke your ribs, I thought a bone-in meat stew would help your recovery,” explained Joyce timidly.

“Oh?” Stanley arched a brow and asked, “Who taught you about that? I never knew that helped with bone recovery. There's no scientific evidence behind that.”

Joyce set the food jar aside and replied patiently, “I heard about it from others. Since everyone sort of vouched for it, I took their advice. Just one of those old wives' tales, you know.”

“Is it?” Stanley cocked his head in amusement.

Joyce nodded and mumbled, “But if you don't like it, I'll—”

“It's fine,” he interjected with a shake of his head, cutting her off. “Give me a bowl of that.”

“Okay.”
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