Chapter 1051: Love Is Done
Manuel drove while Besse and Susan sat in the back. Susan chattered incessantly, curious about what Besse had supposedly dropped.
"Besse, what did you drop?"
Besse remained silent, despite Susan's repeated questions. Nothing had been lost; she simply wanted to look around.
Manuel, growing weary of Susan's questions, said, "Susan, please be quiet. The baby's asleep."
"Manuel, are you saying I'm annoying?" Susan's attention shifted instantly.
Besse breathed a sigh of relief. Susan's persistence had been taxing. She glanced in the rearview mirror and silently thanked Manuel, who smiled back.
Despite this reprieve, Susan continued bombarding Besse with questions throughout the journey.
Finally, they arrived at the villa. As Susan moved to help Besse, Manuel intervened. "Don't you want some ice cream? I have some in the fridge."
"When did you put it there? You hid my ice cream, didn't you?" Susan accused, her voice sharp.
"Otherwise, you'd eat it all at once," Manuel retorted. "Your prenatal checkup went well today. This is a reward. Keep up the good work!"
"Do you think I'm a child?" Susan asked, a touch defensively.
"Yes, like my daughter," Manuel replied, smiling.
Susan felt a blush creep onto her cheeks, but she was pleased. While they spoke, Besse had already hobbled upstairs with her cane. Instead of her usual room, she went to the children's room.
The familiar décor was unchanged since her last visit. She moved an activity table, revealing two lines of writing on the wall—one by Salem, the other written by her in Hannah's name. She crossed out her words, replacing them with something new. Her eyes welled with tears. She hoped Salem might see it when he missed his mother.
Besse sat for a while, then replaced the activity table, obscuring the writing. She prepared to leave. As she turned, she noticed a photo on the bedside table—a picture of a younger Salem, sitting on the floor, unable to crawl, his face a picture of adorable confusion.
Besse picked up the photo, gazing at it for a long time before reluctantly putting it down. The door opened. Her eyes flickered, but she held back her tears.
"There's an album on the bedside table," Manuel announced.
Besse looked at him; he offered a small smile. "I came to get Susan a jacket."
Besse nodded. Manuel, always considerate, ensured no one felt overlooked.
After the door closed, Besse opened the bedside table, revealing a thick album titled "Salem's Growth Album." She nervously opened it, finding photos of Salem from birth to his recent fifth birthday party.
Had Oscar made this album?
Tears streamed down Besse's face as she finished. She wiped them away, then reopened the album, removing a single photograph before finally leaving the room. She paused, picturing Salem occasionally visiting this space.
Back in the living room, Besse had regained her composure. Susan, happily finished with her ice cream, posed a serious question.
"What if we have a daughter?"
"We'll take good care of her," Manuel replied, unfazed by Susan's unusual queries.
"But what if she steals your love?" Susan worried, imagining Manuel's attention diverted to their daughter.
The thought—of Manuel's tender care for their child—unsettled her.
"That won't happen," Manuel reassured her. "Daughters marry. My wife is my true belonging."
"Really?" Susan exclaimed, delighted. She hadn't expected such a sensible response.
"Uh-huh," Manuel affirmed with a firm nod.
Susan felt an immediate sense of relief. Manuel's attentiveness had sometimes felt overwhelming.
Only then, seeing Besse, did Susan remember their original purpose—accompanying Besse to find her lost item, not a date with Manuel.
She rushed to Besse. "Did you find it?"
Besse shook her head. "No. I must have misremembered. It's probably in my suitcase."
"Can I help you look?" Susan offered eagerly.
"No need," Besse smiled. "Let's go."
"But it must be important," Susan insisted. "You wouldn't have come all this way otherwise."
"It's not that important," Besse deflected. "Let's return to the hospital. Doyle will be worried."
"You're so kind to Doyle," Susan remarked.
Besse's lips tightened. He deserved it. He was better than her.
"Oscar might not get another chance," Susan blurted, her lingering dissatisfaction evident. Oscar had almost died for Besse, yet she remained indifferent.
Besse didn't respond, leaning on her cane and walking away. Susan sighed heavily. Did Oscar deserve this? It seemed he would never receive the love he craved.