Chapter 59
No, that’s impossible.
Someone like Jamison—a dyed-in-the-wool capitalist—would never stoop to playing the stock market alongside small-time investors. And it’s not like he’s some saintly doctor, either.
If Jamison hadn’t left her with such a terrible impression, Ivy wouldn’t have blurted out such disrespectful words to Dr. Handsome, letting her prejudice get the better of her.
Mrs. Smith typed: Dale, could you invite Dr. Handsome back into the group? Tell him I want to apologize.
Dale replied: Sure, I’ll try to get in touch with him.
But soon after, Dale sent another message: I called him, but he said he won’t rejoin the group. He claims he’s busy with work and not paying attention to the market these days.
Ivy frowned. Was this guy really that petty?
Was she going to have to apologize in person?
She hesitated. But guilt gnawed at her–she had spoken recklessly, and Dr. Handsome really was a brilliant, compassionate doctor. The least she could do was apologize properly.
She messaged Dale: Do you have his WhatsApp?
Dale: Yeah, I added him last time, after he saved my niece.
Dale sent over Dr. Handsome’s number. Ivy paused for a moment, then sent a friend request.
In the request, she wrote: This is Mrs. Smith—I owe you an apology.
She was prepared for him to ignore her.
But a few minutes later, her request was accepted.
Ivy felt a little embarrassed, but since she was in the wrong, she sent a message without hesitation: I’m sorry, Dr. Handsome, for what I said earlier. Dale told me what you did for his niece. It was truly inspiring and heroic.
On the other end, Jamison glanced away from the medical journal he was reading. The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly at the apology.
Dr. Handsome: Just doing my job.
Ivy raised her eyebrows. Still so aloof.
Mrs. Smith: You should come back to the group chat. Otherwise, I’ll feel like a criminal.
Dr. Handsome: I really am busy these days.
Mrs. Smith: Then just join the group and don’t say anything. Everyone admires you now, and if you don’t come back, I’ll be in trouble.
After sending that, she waited a while without getting a response. She figured his silence meant consent.
So she went back to the group and messaged Dale again, since he was an admin and could add people.
Sure enough, this time Dr. Handsome didn’t refuse and rejoined the chat.
Mrs. Smith; @Dr.Handsome, I want to publicly apologize again for what I said earlier.
Dr. Handsome: That’s not necessary.
Bob: [starry-eyed emoji] Dr. Handsome, you’re amazing! I wish I could meet you in person!
Dr. Handsome: There’s really no need. It’s better if you never have to meet me.
His words sounded cold and distant, but they only made Ivy like him a little more.
He was right, after all–needing a doctor meant something had gone wrong. Not needing one meant you were safe and healthy.
The others in the group continued to gush their admiration, but Dr. Handsome didn’t say another word.
That night, Ivy was exhausted after a long day. While the Windsors were still at the hospital, she took the chance to shower in the guest bathroom and got ready to rest.
As soon as she lay down, a dull ache started in the lower right side of her abdomen.
She did the math–it was almost that time of the month again.
For the past three years, for reasons she couldn’t explain, a few days before her period, the pain in her abdomen would start–sometimes so bad she’d break out in a cold sweat, convinced she might pass out. She’d even wondered if she was seriously ill.
But at her last checkup, the abdominal ultrasound didn’t show any major problems.
Maybe it was just severe malnutrition wreaking havoc on her body.
She spent the next two days in misery.
Ivy barely left her room, only ordering food delivery when she was hungry. When the pain got unbearable, she’d have a courier bring her some painkillers.
But the medicine only brought brief relief.
That same week, Rosetta had sprained her right ankle the night she was startled by the snake, and now it was wrapped in layer upon layer of bandages. Emma had banged her chin, leaving a dark, dried scab.
Because of all this, the weekend’s engagement party had to be postponed again.
When Ivy stayed holed up in her room for two days straight, the Windsors started murmuring among themselves.
“Mom, is Ivy getting worse? Shouldn’t we take her to the hospital? What if…”
Emma wanted to say: What if she dies at home–that would be such a mess.
Rosetta, worried, noticed her eldest daughter hadn’t left her room since grabbing her breakfast delivery, not even by four in the afternoon.
“Emma, go knock on her door and check on her,” Rosetta said, unable to get up herself.
Emma cringed.
First, because there had been a snake in Ivy’s room.
Second, the idea that Ivy might be close to death, her skin festering and contagious, made Emma recoil.
“Mom, let Edna check on her,” she suggested.
Emma called Edna over and pushed her toward Ivy’s door.
Inside, Ivy was in so much pain she was on the verge of passing out.
She wanted a drink, but her glass was already empty.
The porridge she’d ordered that morning was now cold and congealed, but her mouth was so dry she had no choice.
She forced herself upright, pressed a spoon against the surface of the porridge to squeeze out a little liquid, and sipped it to wet her lips.
A knock sounded at the door. She glanced over, the corners of her mouth lifting in a faint, bitter smile.
So, they finally remembered she existed.
They knew she’d been sick in bed for two days, and not one of them had checked in on her–not a word or a knock.
Her heart, already numb with disappointment, cracked open a little wider, bleeding anew.
“Miss Ivy? Miss Ivy?” Edna’s voice came through the door.
The little flicker of hope that had just risen in Ivy’s chest snuffed itself out.
Of course. It was just Edna.
For a moment, she’d dared to hope it was her mother coming to check on her.