Fine. She would eat. If it meant he would leave, she’d gladly consume the porridge.
Head bowed, she ate slowly, every spoonful a reminder of her sore, wounded mouth.
She felt like crying from the pain. But not in Mitchel’s presence.
Never in front of him.
Tears would only earn disdain from someone who didn’t love you. Why volunteer for more humiliation?
Mitchel retreated to the bathroom and changed his clothes.
When Raegan noticed him retrieving a fresh set of clothes, she was taken aback. Had he planned to stay at the hospital for an extended period?
A caretaker appeared to clear the table after her meal.
Raegan was just about to lie down and rest when Mitchel reached for her mouth again.
With swift reflexes, Raegan smacked his hand away.
Mitchel’s expression turned stormy.
Gazing at him warily, Raegan said, “Mr. Dixon, even a tool needs a break.”
Had her health been compromised, she was convinced she wouldn’t have survived the previous night.
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Mitchel’s expression shifted as he pulled out a tissue, handing it over to signal her to let her wipe her mouth.
But Raegan didn’t take it. She took another one, wiped her mouth, and threw it away.
Mitchel’s arm remained hanging in the air awkwardly, and he struggled to contain his frustration.
“Raegan, enough is enough.”
Raegan chuckled and retorted, “So, you want to do it here? Fine, I can accommodate you. Just not with my mouth. It’s sore.”
“You! Unbelievable!” Mitchel’s face flushed a deep shade of blue.
Angrily, he tossed the tissue aside and stormed out of the room.
By noon, Matteo arrived with a Lunchbox.
As he was leaving, Raegan halted him.
“Did you personally hand the paternity test report to Mr. Dixon?”
Caught off guard, Matteo nodded. Mr. Dixon’s behavior had revealed the result of the test.