Chapter 219
Yet upon entering, she noticed signs suggesting someone was present.
“Sir?”
She called out.
A muffled “Hmm” came from inside the room.
Sir was home?
Mylee froze, quickly motioning her daughter to stay put on the sofa. Limping toward the bedroom door, she asked, “Sir, you’re home? I’ll just pack my things and be on my way…”
After a pause, she added, “Thank you for your patience and kindness over these years.”
Cedrick remained silent.
Something felt off. Normally he’d come out, or at least respond. “Sir, are you alright?”
Finally, a raspy voice emerged: “No.”
Sick?
“Sir, may I come in?”
Mylee ventured cautiously.
“Hmm…”
Entering the room, she found Cedrick still in bed–highly unusual. “Sir, aren’t you feeling well?”
“Water…” Cedrick’s throat burned like fire. Forgotten during his stupor, thirst now clawed at him.
“Okay, okay, just a moment…” Mylee limped out, instructed her daughter to fetch water, then carried the cup back af- ter sternly telling the child not to touch anything.
Cedrick struggled upright to drink, but each swallow felt like shards of glass tearing through his throat.
Seeing his flushed face and pained expression, Mylee suspected fever. She fetched a forehead thermometer. 39.5°C- burning up.
As Cedrick collapsed back onto the pillows after drinking, Mylee urged, “Sir, you’ve got a high fever. Shouldn’t you go to the hospital?”
Cedrick shook his head.
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He refused all persuasion–even declined calling a clinic doctor. Frustrated, Mylee rummaged through the medicine cabinet herself. Having raised children and cared for Lucille five years, she knew basic nursing. Following past expe- rience, she found appropriate medication.
Dazed, he muttered before drifting off: “Have Madam sleep in the guest room tonight. Don’t let her catch this.”
Mylee: …
Truthfully, Mylee had no sympathy for Cedrick.
Though he’d hired her, five years with Lucille had forged stronger bonds. Yet he’d been good to her, and as the house- hold’s nanny, she couldn’t just leave him like this.
Fine. With fever this severe, abandoning him felt impossible anyway.
Limping around while tidying one–handed, she discovered Cedrick’s discarded clothes caked with grime–dried stiff, impossible to tell where or how long they’d been soiled.
She recalled the heavy rain two nights prior. Must’ve caught a chill from drenching. But where could someone go in a downpour to end up like this?
This needs to be taken to the cleaners.
She put it in a bag. Since the house was empty anyway, she needed to go to the supermarket for groceries. She could drop the clothes off on the way.
Her daughter Sophia came along.
Dropping off the laundry and buying groceries took about forty minutes. Back home, she headed straight to the kitchen to cook something light for Cedrick.
Sophia was well–behaved, following her into the kitchen to help.
Once the meal was ready, Mylee went to check on Cedrick again.
He was awake, his eyes noticeably clearer now, no longer bloodshot.
The fever had broken.
“Sir, dinner’s ready. Would you like some?” Mylee asked softly.
Cedrick had no appetite. His throat still felt like a knife was cutting it; swallowing anything would be agony.
“What are you doing here?”
Now lucid, Cedrick finally asked, his voice still hoarse.
Mylee explained she’d come to pack her things.
“Pack?” Cedrick frowned slightly. “Where are you going?”
“I… I’m finding other work.”
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“You’re not looking after Madam anymore?” Cedrick’s brow furrowed deeper. “Is the pay too low? Want a raise?”
“No, no, no.” Mylee waved her hands frantically.
Because Madam isn’t coming back, Sir.
But she didn’t dare say it.
“Then keep working here. If you have requests, state them. You’ve taken good care of Madam these five years; a raise is deserved.” Cedrick stated decisively.