Chapter 40: Annette Didn’t Expect Stuart’s Former Name to Be So Down-to-Earth

Annette felt a deeper unease bloom in her chest. The thought of Stuart once teaching Laura how to write—that quiet, intimate moment—was something she didn't want to picture.

Still, she couldn't deny the sign was beautifully penned.

Stuart glanced at the shop front with no visible emotion. "Not bad."

Laura smiled gently. "You used to say I was hopeless and nearly smacked my hand with a ruler. Of course, I had to keep practicing. I've never dared forget."

Then, catching herself, she added quickly, "Look at me, just going on and on. Come in, both of you. I'll make some hot tea before you go."

Stuart declined flatly, "No need. It's getting late. You should rest. And don't bother coming tomorrow—Annette and I will be heading back in the afternoon."

Laura's smile faltered for the briefest moment. The dim glow from the streetlamp softened her disappointment into a veil of gentleness. "Alright. Take care on the road. Tell Nancy I'll visit her in the village soon."

As Annette followed Stuart down the street, she glanced back. Laura was still standing at the shop door, bathed in the warm halo of the streetlight, almost like a painting.

Annette turned back toward Stuart. There wasn't a hint of nostalgia on his face. She lowered her voice and asked, "You and Laura… you seem close."

Stuart paused a moment before replying. "Her mother once saved my life."

"Oh," Annette murmured, falling silent. A life-saving debt… and they'd grown up together. It wasn't hard to imagine deeper feelings might have formed over the years.

She sighed inwardly. Just when her heart had started warming to him, she might have to let go already.

At the entrance of the guesthouse, the front desk was empty. Annette glanced around, then tugged Stuart's arm and pulled him up the stairs without a word.

No one saw them. That was enough.

She needed to check his wound urgently.

Stuart was still confused when he found himself being dragged into her room. Annette shut the door quietly behind them.

"Quick—take your shirt off so I can check the stitches."

She hurried him toward the bed. With how their luck had been going, she didn't want to risk a staff member walking in on them.

But as she started unbuttoning his shirt, she froze. Something about this moment… felt weirdly inappropriate.

There, Stuart was, half-leaning on the bed with his hands behind him, utterly passive, as if awaiting judgment. The scene was unintentionally suggestive.

Annette couldn't help it—she burst into laughter.

"I'm serious!" she scolded through a grin. "Let me just check your wound before someone kicks you out."

Stuart's ears turned red as he shrugged off his jacket and shirt. He didn't resist anymore—he was used to her by now.

His bandage was soaked through with blood, the wound clearly aggravated.

Annette's expression turned grave. She pushed him flat onto the bed. "If it's serious, you'll need to go back to the hospital for stitches. Do you want your guts spilling out?"

Honestly, this man was far too stoic. Walking around like nothing was wrong when he was practically bleeding out.

She didn't waste time. After washing her hands, she opened her bag and took out a small medical kit she'd borrowed from the nurse, complete with tweezers, scalpel, and alcohol swabs.

She carefully removed the old dressing. Just as she feared, the edges of the wound had torn open, white tissue puckering slightly as red muscle peeked through.

Sterilizing the scalpel, she turned to Stuart with a serious look. "Two options. One, you get your clothes back on, and we go to the hospital. Or two, I clean it myself—but that means cutting away the dead tissue. It'll hurt. A lot."

Her hands itched to operate, but she gave him the choice.

Stuart didn't hesitate. "You do it."

Her eyes lit up. "Alright. But brace yourself. You've been overexerting it—no wonder it's not healing."

She didn't hesitate, slicing away the necrotic flesh with steady, precise hands. Stuart didn't even flinch. Not once.

Annette was in awe. What a man.

Trying to distract him, she made conversation. "Your brothers' names—Charles and Carl—both have 'Long' in them. But not you. Why's that?"

His name, Stuart, sounded scholarly and refined. The kind you'd give a son from a noble family. Not something she imagined Grace and Richard could've come up with.

Stuart answered with rare patience. "I wasn't always called this. I got seriously ill when I was about seven or eight. Some old scholar in the village did fortune readings and said my birth name was unlucky—cursed, even. Said I'd bring doom to my parents. So they changed it."

Annette nodded. That tracked. People in remote villages believed in that kind of thing.

"Well, your new name is lovely. What was the old one?"

As she asked, she began wrapping his wound neatly.

Stuart replied without embarrassment. "Hopewell Longlife."

Annette froze, then burst out laughing.

That name was hilarious. Full of that vintage optimism you could only find in small, tight-knit communities. Hopewell Longlife? Really?

She looked at his rugged face again and laughed even harder. "Hopewell? Longlife?! Oh my god…"

It completely changed how she saw him. Gone was the silent, serious man—now all she could see was some endearingly stubborn country boy with an optimistic name to match.

Stuart looked at her, confused. It wasn't even that strange of a name—there were grown men in his village called things like "Little Sister."

But he had to admit—watching Annette laugh so freely, her eyes sparkling, was something else entirely. She was radiant when she laughed.

She trembled with laughter as she finished bandaging him up. Even then, she couldn't stop chuckling.

How could someone as stoic as Stuart have a name like that?

Stuart got dressed silently, buttoning up while Annette was still grinning on the other bed.

"I'm heading out. Lock your door properly," he said.

Annette nodded through teary laughter. "Alright. Be careful—and get some rest."

Once he was gone, she flopped back on the bed, still grinning.

"Hopewell Longlife…" she whispered, giggling again.

The name made him feel… less intimidating. Almost like someone you could tease forever.

But then, a memory struck her. She sat up straight, her smile fading.

Just now—had she seen a dark red birthmark near Stuart's waist?

Was that blood? Or something else?

She hadn't looked closely before—not under good light, not without distraction. But now…

There was something there.