Seeing Ritas pitiful expression only intensified Tildas revulsion.
You see him as your savior? Or do you think hes your man now? Lyndons expression darkened at those words.
Tilda, what has gotten into you? Tilda shot him a look.
Lyndon, you know I have zero tolerance for this kind of thing.
Cant handle it anymore, huh? Lyndons lips tightened, his restraint evident.
Tildas fingers curled into her palm.
We agreed before we got married, didnt we? If either of us ever found someone else we cared about, wed set the other person free.
It looks like youve found your love.
Fine, Ill set you free. With a resolute twist of her heel, Tilda turned to leave.
Lyndons expression grew stormier as he reached out and grasped her arm firmly.
He frowned, Tilda, stop overreacting.
Let me explain.
Tilda paused, her gaze fixed intensely on his clenched jaw, emotions churning tumultuously within her.
She scoffed, Overreacting? Come on, admit that you have feelings for her.
Lyndons frown deepened.
Its not what you think, he insisted.
Oh, really? So what is it then? Playing the savior again? Tilda interjected sharply.
Come with me.
Let go of me.
Im going home! Tilda resisted, her brows knitting together in frustration.
Without another word, Lyndon guided her through the corridors to a hospital room and knocked gently on the door.
Inside, a middle-aged man in his fifties sat propped up in bed, a hospital gown loosely draped around him.
A caregiver was at his side, assisting him with a glass of water.
Upon seeing Lyndon, the man expressed surprise.
Lyndon, what are you doing here? I just got back from a business trip and heard from my mom you had a heart attack, so I came straight here to check on you, Lyndon explained, his voice laden with concern. As he approached the bed, his worry palpable.
How are you feeling? Are you doing better now? The man managed a weak smile.
Im fine.
Due to the prompt medical assistance, it turned out to be nothing serious.
After exchanging a few pleasantries, the man turned his attention to Tilda, who stood awkwardly at the side.
Lyndon, who is this? he inquired, prompting Lyndon to draw Tilda closer.
Lyndon smiled, This is my wife, Tilda.
And Tilda, this is my uncle, Ernest Gilbert.