Chapter 1119

“What’s nursing?” Marlon asked.

Debra blinked at him. “You don’t know?”

“Not really.”

“It means stimulating milk production for women after they’ve had a baby,” Marion pondered. “Is it for men too?”

“Only for women.”

“Got it. If you ever want kids in the future…”

“You’ll make soup for me?”

“I won’t let you drink it.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve heard it’s painful for mothers to breastfeed. I don’t want you to go through that.”

Debra couldn’t hold back her giggles. “So, if I don’t breastfeed, what would our baby drink?”

“Formula,” Marion replied matter-of-factly.

Debra smirked. “Dummy, if the milk isn’t expressed, it’ll still hurt.”

Marion fell into thought. “Then let’s not have kids. Just you and me, together for life. That sounds perfect. If you ever feel lonely, we can move to that house in the mountains and keep cats and dogs. Either way, I’ll always be by your side. You’ll never have to feel pain or loneliness.”

Debra’s heart softened. “Okay.”

After they finished eating, Debra cleared the table and carried the pot out of the room. Planning to take it back to the kitchen, she turned a corner and bumped into Kale, who was holding a takeout bag. The collision sent the bag tumbling to the ground. Kale’s face tightened as he quickly bent down to retrieve it.

Debra’s gaze landed on the writing on the bag: Freshly Slaughtered Fish. She raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Lowe is craving fish late at night?”

“It’s fish soup,” Kale replied curtly before walking toward the study.

Debra was instantly reminded of Marion’s earlier explanation about fish soup being used to nurse mothers. A mischievous grin spread across her face as she called out loud enough for the study’s occupant to hear, “Isn’t fish soup for nursing mothers? Mr. Lowe, don’t tell me you just got out of postpartum confinement.”

Drake’s face darkened at her words.

Kale, oblivious to the implications, placed the soup on the desk. “Boss, here is your fish soup.”

“Couldn’t you avoid Debra on your way up?”

Kale blinked, confused. “Why would I avoid her?”

It was just fish soup.

Drake didn’t answer. His eyes fell on the soup, but his appetite waned. With a sigh, he opened the container. Inside was a bowl of plain-looking fish soup. He couldn’t help but think back to the soup Debra had been making in the kitchen earlier. Its broth was creamy and fragrant. The one in front of him, however, looked unimpressive. Still, he took a sip, only to grimace. The taste wasn’t just bland; it carried an unpleasantly raw aftertaste.

“This is carp soup? This is what they give women after childbirth?”

The stark contrast between this lackluster soup and the enticing aroma of Debra’s cooking left him irritable.