Chapter 18: When It Comes to Battling the Shameless, Annette Never Loses

Annette paid Jean no mind. "Eat up," she told Stuart. "The stew won't stay warm forever."

Stuart, ever the silent type, finally took the lunch box and quietly obeyed.

Martha, thoroughly ignored, tried to make a scene, patting Jean's back. "You've always had a weak stomach. All this city food is turning you delicate."

Annette rolled her eyes and turned back to her own growling belly. There was no time to babysit fools.

But watching Jean closely, something clicked. Her waist looked thicker than it should for a young girl, her movements sluggish. Annette's medical instincts stirred.

"Since we're in a hospital already," she said with faux sweetness, "why don't you get checked out? Just in case it's something serious. If it turns out you're sick, I'll give you the whole pot of duck stew."

Jean panicked, her voice sharp. "What are you talking about?! What 'serious'?"

Bingo.

She hadn't had her period in three months. Her belly was firm. She'd been terrified ever since that night with the educated youth who'd vanished. She couldn't be pregnant, could she?

Annette saw right through her. "Go on, one little check-up won't hurt."

Even Martha was tempted by the promise of duck soup. "That's true. You've been saying your stomach hurts. Let your sister-in-law help you."

Jean furiously shook her head. "No! I'm fine! I don't need it!"

Martha shot her a sharp look. Something was definitely off.

Annette didn't push it. The duck soup had served its purpose—it shut both women up. She cleaned up the leftovers and took them to the kitchen for safekeeping, then bought a cheap flatbread and some pickled vegetables to eat under the warm sun.

She sat, chewing thoughtfully. Now that she was in the city, she had to earn money somehow. Even small-scale work would do. Better than watching her savings dwindle.

Two young nurses passed by, chatting about skincare creams and undergarments sent from Shanghai. Annette perked up—turns out bras did exist here, just not in this backwater.

Could she make some and sell them?

Then she remembered—she couldn't sew.

Other transmigrated heroines cooked, sewed, and made a fortune. She couldn't even make a decent buttonhole.

Still, she had something they didn't—medical skills, both surgical and traditional. Surely that was enough to carve out a living here.

Bolstered by this thought, she stood up, brushing crumbs from her lips, ready to return to the hospital—

Only to find Jean blocking her path, face dark as a thundercloud.

"You better watch your mouth, Annette," she snapped. "If you keep spreading nonsense, I swear I won't let you off easy."

Annette raised a brow, amused. "Oh? And what exactly are you going to do about it?"

Jean's hands curled into fists. "I'll have my brother divorce you! You think he wants you? Sister Caiya is a thousand times better than you—gentle and beautiful. If it weren't for you, he would've married her!"

That one stung more than Annette expected.

Still, she smirked. "Too bad. No matter how beautiful or gentle she is, I'm the one he married. But if you're so capable, go tell him yourself. Let's see if he agrees to divorce me."

Jean stormed off in a huff, red-faced and seething.

Annette, in contrast, was positively radiant.

Back in the ward, Stuart was lying down, the doctor having just changed his bandages. Martha and Jean were nowhere to be seen.

Annette did a quick once-over, checking his temperature with a casual hand. "You seem stable. You'll be able to walk soon, but best to stay off your feet for now."

Stuart was getting used to her blunt, hands-on manner. When she stepped back like a doctor finishing rounds, he said, "I'll be discharged in a few days. I need to return to Niuwan Village. You can stay in the city—I'll get the unit to issue a residency letter."

Annette paused.

She'd already realized staying in the city without proper documents was risky. Yet Stuart had never once mentioned her going back to her family home in the city, even though it was just across town.

In the original memories she had, there wasn't anything particularly warm—or cold—about the family ties. Just... distant. Like something had been erased.

Why hadn't he reminded her?

And with his injury, there was no way he'd recover fully in the countryside. One wrong move and he'd tear the wound open.

He'd been nothing but good to her. She couldn't just let him go back alone.

She made up her mind.

"I'll go with you."