Chapter 211

Annie's POV

I slowly opened my eyes, feeling a profound sense of peace and deep satisfaction. Howard was no longer beside me, but his familiar scent still lingered on the pillow, a comforting reminder of the life we were building together. Thinking back to the beautiful evening we shared, I couldn't help but smile. Without Lucy at home, we had finally been able to enjoy a quiet, uninterrupted night of deep conversation and connection.

Rolling over, I checked my phone on the nightstand—8:30. My God, I'd slept this late! I hurriedly got out of bed, deciding to use this precious time to catch up on the illustration projects I'd been putting off. These commissioned works had been piling up, and I needed to maintain my professional independence.

Instead of looking for Howard, I sat directly at the desk and immersed myself in creating. The image of a little girl gradually took shape on the paper—she had golden curls and bright eyes, much like Lucy. I added a teddy bear companion, imagining the joy on Lucy's face when she saw it.

A gentle knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. "Come in," I responded without looking up.

Howard entered, leaning against the doorframe with gentle eyes. He wore a simple white t-shirt, looking relaxed and attractive.

"Working so intently?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. He walked closer, standing behind me. "Is this for Lucy?"

"Yes," I shifted to give him a better view. "I think she'll love it."

"She'll absolutely love it," Howard's hand rested lightly and reassuringly on my shoulder. "But do you know what time it is? It's 10:10. It's not good to go this long without breakfast."

He looked at me with an attentiveness that warmed my heart. Unlike my past marriage, where my needs were ignored, Howard noticed every detail. "I've prepared congee and some side dishes. Come eat while it's hot," he said.

Setting aside my work, I followed him downstairs. As we walked, his hand naturally came to rest on my waist—a small, intimate gesture that made me feel truly cherished.

We entered the dining room, and the aroma of fresh food filled the air. Howard had even cooked the congee longer because he knew I preferred a softer texture. This level of care was something I was still getting used to, a beautiful contrast to the neglect I had endured before.

As I took a spoonful, I realized an ironic truth: my past failures weren't my fault; I had simply been in the wrong environment. With Howard, every meal, every conversation, and every touch was a testament to what a healthy relationship should be.

Just as I was savoring this peace, the doorbell rang. I walked to the security monitor, and my heart instantly froze.

Betty Baker, Philip's mother, was standing at the entrance. The past was knocking on my door, but this time, I wasn't the same woman she once knew.