Chapter 22: A Gentle Crack in Stuart’s Heart

Grace noticed that Stuart didn't speak a word in her defense. Perhaps out of guilt, she didn't dare say more. Dragging Nancy along, the mother and daughter fled in a flurry, as if escaping a war zone.

Annette watched their retreating backs disappear through the door. Then she turned to Stuart with open curiosity, completely unbothered by her earlier blunt words. "Is it just me," she asked, "or is your mom actually afraid of you?"

Grace, with her loud and domineering voice, seemed the type to shout down anyone in her way. But around Stuart, she turned meek. The contrast fascinated Annette.

Predictably, Stuart didn't answer.

Annette didn't mind. She picked up a towel and enamel mug, heading to the washroom to freshen up. As she scrubbed her face and brushed her teeth, she half-listened to a nearby conversation between two caretakers.

"I saw the crucian carp you brought back yesterday—looked decent. How much did you pay?"

"Didn't cost a cent. By the river, someone was using explosives to catch fish. After they left, I scooped some up along the edge."

Annette froze mid-brush. Free fish?

"They just left them?" another voice asked. "That really happens?"

"Yeah, the small ones were tossed aside. They didn't want them. If you go east from here, past that big pond, you'll see it."

"I'll check it out after breakfast."

Annette quickly stored the location in her memory. She rinsed fast, filled a basin of water for Stuart, then practically ran to reheat the duck soup she'd stored in the supply room. She bought two white buns from the canteen and brought everything back to Stuart's room.

"Eat it all," she said, placing the food in front of him. "Finish the meat and the soup—I've got somewhere to be."

Before Stuart could ask, she was out the door again, bun in hand, munching as she moved. At the hospital gate, she bumped into Dr. Raymond.

She quickly tucked the bun behind her back. "Good morning, Doctor Raymond!"

Raymond had noticed Annette's behavior over the last few days and was quietly impressed. He smiled warmly. "Out and about this early?"

"Running an errand," she said cheerfully. "Don't want to keep you, Doctor!" She offered a quick smile and jogged off.

He couldn't help but chuckle as he watched her go. Even from behind, he could tell she was eating one of the cheapest buns the hospital kitchen sold—made from mixed grains and coarse flour, the kind that scraped your throat raw.

They said Stuart had married a diva. Didn't seem like it to him.

With that thought, Raymond changed direction and headed to Stuart's room instead of his office.

He found Stuart eating quietly—duck soup and white flour buns on his tray.

"Well," Raymond said, "looks like your wife's taking pretty good care of you."

Stuart set down his bowl and started to rise, but Raymond waved him off. "Sit down. You look better already."

Stuart gave a rare half-smile. "I owe my life to you."

Raymond scowled. "Don't make me do surgery on you again. I'm getting too old for surprises."

They'd met during the war, when Raymond had served as a front-line medic. That had been over a decade ago.

After checking on Stuart's condition, Raymond leaned against the wall. "I've heard rumors the two of you weren't getting along," he said. "But from what I've seen… she's not bad."

Stuart fell silent, unsure how to respond. The truth was too complicated.

"Look," Raymond continued, voice low and sincere, "no marriage is perfect. Couples argue. That's normal. But not every man ends up with a wife who still makes duck soup when he's recovering. And I've heard from the kitchen that while you're eating white buns and soup, she's been surviving on the cheapest coarse grain buns and pickled vegetables."

Stuart blinked, startled.

He'd believed Annette when she said she never shortchanged herself. But she'd lied—he could see that now.

Raymond raised an eyebrow. "Surprising, huh? That fancy city girl of yours? Just now, I saw her leaving, gnawing on one of those dry, scratchy buns like it was nothing. You should hold on tight to a girl like that."

A strange ache softened Stuart's chest. He thought of Annette's bright smile, her animated eyes. He could almost picture her chewing that bun, struggling to swallow each bite. She always said she hated rough food, especially mixed grain.

Raymond clapped him on the shoulder. "You lucked out. Young, pretty, and good to you. Don't let that slip away."

Stuart nodded slowly. "I won't."

If Annette didn't leave him… he'd spend a lifetime being good to her.

...

Annette arrived at the pond to find it already surrounded by people. It turned out this was a fish farm, and with the spring thaw, they were draining the ponds and pulling up the winter stock.

Some used explosives, others nets. Dozens of people crowded around, ready to grab the discarded small fish.

Annette stared at the chaos. Never in her life had she imagined she'd one day be fighting strangers for free fish.

But money was tight, and Stuart needed nourishment. Pride wasn't edible.

The moment a net full of fish hit the shore, she dove into the fray. Small fish—just about the size of her palm—slipped from the net. People scrambled, grabbing what they could.

Annette rolled up her sleeves, shoved her way in. She pushed back just as hard as she was pushed. Her quick reflexes and surprising strength paid off—by the time she was done, her cloth bag was bulging with over twenty tiny fish.

Enough for two days of soup, she figured.

Grinning with triumph, she hugged the bag close and headed back. She barely noticed how disheveled she looked—sweaty, covered in mud, her hair sticking to her face.

She was already picturing rich, creamy fish broth and some warm flatbread. The thought made her mouth water.

At the hospital entrance, she sprinted toward the kitchen—only to come to an abrupt halt.

Stuart stood there, rigid and tall like a tree in the winter sun. His injury seemed to bother him less than it should have. He looked unshakable.

Annette paused, startled.

Stuart's usual stern face cracked, ever so slightly. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks smudged with dirt, and her clothes were muddy—but to him, she had never looked more beautiful.

Annette marched up to him, eyes blazing. "Why are you out here again? Trying to rip your stitches open?"

Stuart blinked, then—amazingly—offered a reply. "I didn't see you for a while. I got worried… came to find you."

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "Well, now you've seen me. Go back and rest. I've got stuff to do."

But Stuart didn't move. He just stood there, watching her—his heart caught somewhere between awe and something far more dangerous.

Something like tenderness.