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He often drove for Geoffrey and knew how Geoffrey used to treat Maureen.
Inside the room.
Maureen turned to look at Geoffrey who had bumped into the sofa: “Can’t you walk more carefully?”
“This is the only decent sofa we have at home.”
Geoffrey heard Maureen’s familiar voice, not angry at all: “I’ll remember.”
Maureen was taken aback.
Geoffrey added, “Don’t be angry, I’ll have a new sofa delivered tomorrow.”
Getting angry isn’t good for the baby inside.
Seeing Geoffrey so humble once again surprised Maureen; she had intended to keep targeting him but felt a bit embarrassed.
“I don’t want your things, don’t have anyone deliver them.”
“Follow me, go to your room.
“1
Geoffrey listened to her voice, reached out and grabbed her arm.
Maureen saw this and pulled his hand away.
“I won’t take care of you. If you’re staying here, you’re on your own.”
Geoffrey’s throat bobbed.
“Okay.”
He hadn’t come here for Maureen to look after him.
Following the sound of Maureen’s footsteps, he trailed her back to the cramped storage room.
Maureen set out toiletries for him, then said, “My adoptive mother Zoe lives here too. Be
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mindful when she’s home, and stay in your room unless necessary
In Maureen’s heart, Zoe was her mother, not just a housekeeper.
“Alright.”
Another simple agreement. Since losing his memory, Geoffrey seemed like a different person
Seeing nothing else needed attention and with the hour growing late, Maureen left. She went to Zoe’s room to inform her about Geoffrey staying downstairs.
Not long after she finished speaking.
Downstairs-“Bang!”
“Tll go check.”
Maureen immediately went downstairs, only to find Geoffrey’s door tightly shut with nothing unusual in sight. She paid it no mind.
She figured she’d just wait until he couldn’t stand it anymore and left.
The next morning, Maureen got up early to prepare breakfast.
She deliberately cooked a pot of carrot millet congee, remembering Geoffrey’s picky aversion
to carrots.
Roy had inherited that trait–if there was even a bit of carrot in his food, he wouldn’t touch it.
Zoe hadn’t woken up yet, so Maureen set aside a portion before serving the rest.
Geoffrey emerged freshly changed into loungewear.
When Maureen glanced over, she noticed a large, freshly broken wound on his forehead.
She instantly understood what had happened–that noise yesterday must’ve been him hitting his head.
Pretending not to see it, she announced, “Breakfast is ready.”
“Hmm.”
Geoffrey approached cautiously.
The space was cramped, cluttered with furniture everywhere.
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He feared bumping into another piece of Maureen’s precious furniture and angering her
Though she wanted him gone quickly, Maureen couldn’t bear to watch him walk into walls. “Move lett a bit–you’re about to hit the wall.”
Geoffrey froze mid–step, his cars flushing red enough to bleed.
He took a few steps left, then swiftly approached the dining table, pulled out a chair, and sat down in one fluid motion.
“Thanks, I’ll remember that.”
His agreeable nature made Maureen wish he hadn’t lost his memory.
It felt wrong to take advantage of him now.
She scooped a bowl of porridge and placed two fried eggs before him: “Here.”
“Thanks. I’ll wake up earlier tomorrow to help.”
He’d slept poorly in the unfamiliar bed last night, rising late.
Maureen paused again: “No need. What could you possibly help with? You can’t see.
Geoffrey’s throat tightened before his voice softened: “You could quit working. Move back to Pearl with Zoe. I’ll provide for
you both.‘
I’ll provide for you both…
Maureen buried her face in the porridge bowl, nearly choking.
“I don’t need that. I support myself.”
Geoffrey slid a gold card across the table toward her.
Maureen frowned: “What’s this?”
“Salary card.”
His thin lips barely moved.
Wayne had prepared it before his arrival.
Though amnesiac, he’d learned these past days he’d been a multinational CEO with substantial savings.
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“I won’t take it.”
Maureen refused to use his money.
Geoffrey set the card down: “You may refuse. But I cannot withhold.”
“Eat up, I need to compose later.”
Maureen ignored him.
The glimmering gold card lay untouched on the dining table.
Geoffrey lifted his spoon for congee, furrowing his brows after one bite.
“Reenie…”
“What now?”
Maureen looked up impatiently.
“Could you help me?
I can’t stand carrots. Would you pick them out?”
Amnesia hadn’t changed his tastes–or his habit of ordering people around.
Maureen snatched the bowl, haphazardly scooped out some carrots, and shoved it back.
“Done. Eat.”
Geoffrey took another spoonful, paused, then asked:
“Reenie, did you miss some?”
“I got them all. Found another?
Probably just one piece.”
Maureen stood: “I’m off to compose. After eating, wash your bowl. The sink’s two steps ahead.”
She treated Geoffrey’s blindness as nonexistent.
Pre–amnesia Geoffrey would’ve thrown tantrums over imperfect meals–let alone washing dishes.
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