As sunlight drenched the entire land, Harry Hunter drove to the inn where Isabella Weaver was staying.
Connor was arranging breakfast, so Harry went into the bedroom and sat on the edge of Isabella's bed.
What differentiated him from the Hunter Family was that he still had a conscience; he couldn't possibly abandon his sweet little wife.
Such a cute and sensible girl—if he let her go, he would never find anyone better than her.
He had finally found someone pleasing and comfortable. The future was so long and wouldn't be so hard to endure with her by his side.
Isabella was a light sleeper. She sensed someone there and opened her eyes abruptly. Seeing it was Harry, her expression relaxed.
She sat up, her voice carrying the unique laziness of someone waking up: "Mr. Hunter, why are you here again?"
Harry, stirred by the allure of her voice, softly called out, "Connor!"