Unveiled: The Survivor's Triumph

Ethan's eyes scanned me from head to toe, making me super uncomfortable.

"Still up?" I tried to stay calm.

"Can't sleep all sweaty," he said.

I squeezed past him, brushing against him. "Go shower!"

He showed me his bandaged hand and pointed to his head. "How am I supposed to shower like this?"

"So, what now?" His pitiful look made me think, 'Does he want me to help him shower?'

"Help me wipe down," he said bluntly.

I thought his request was too much. We were married in name only, not that close yet.

He must've seen my reluctance. He pinched my cheek. "Don't stress, I'll do it myself."

Worried his wound might get infected, I grabbed his arm. "Fine, I'll help."

Ethan turned around slowly, and I thought I saw a smug smile. I went to get hot water, spilling it everywhere, feeling conflicted.

'He's sweaty and bloody; he needs to clean up. There's no one else to help him. I have no choice.' After steeling myself, I took the towel and hot water out.

Seeing Ethan by the bed in just his boxers, I almost dropped the basin. He looked incredibly handsome and like trouble.

I put down the basin, wrung out the towel, and braced myself.

I wiped his face, back, and chest, trying to ignore his firm muscles and heavy breathing. I acted like I was caring for a patient.

"It's time to wipe down there," Ethan's voice whispered in my ear, and I froze.

Holding the towel, I glanced down, my face burning.

In my confusion, Ethan grabbed my hand and guided it to his waistband.

His hand was hot, and his breathing in my ear grew heavier. My heart raced, and for some reason, I forgot to resist.

The tension was broken by Ethan's phone ringing. We exchanged glances, his eyes full of desire.

He answered, "Grandpa," and the mood shifted instantly.

A late-night call from his grandpa usually meant trouble.

"Okay, I'll be right there," Ethan said, looking serious.

"What's wrong? Is your grandpa okay?" I asked, worried.

Ethan nodded. "He fell today and can't get up. A neighbor helped him to bed, but he can't move now."

As a nurse, I knew falls in the elderly could be serious. "Falls can be dangerous, but if he called, he might be okay."

Ethan frowned. "Let's pack some clothes and head to the countryside."

"Me too?"

Ethan glanced at me. "He wants to see you, his granddaughter-in-law."

I quickly packed, and we got in the car.

We should've visited him sooner instead of rushing over after a fall.

Despite his injured hand, Ethan drove skillfully, looking handsome with one hand on the wheel.

It took four hours to reach Greenfield Village. By the time we arrived, it was dawn.

Ethan parked outside a courtyard. The gate was ajar. We pushed it open and froze.

In the garden, Martin Windsor, with white hair, was working the soil with a hoe. Hearing the gate, he straightened up, adjusted his glasses, and looked at me first. "Grandpa, didn't you say you..." Ethan sounded a bit angry.

I understood his frustration after worrying the whole way.

"You finally brought my granddaughter-in-law," Martin said with a triumphant smile.

"Hello, Grandpa, I'm Emily," I greeted him with a smile.

Martin nodded, knocked the dirt off the hoe, and walked out, pointing it at Ethan.

"What trouble have you gotten into now? You're almost thirty and still not mature. Now that you're married, you should settle down. Stop making your wife worry," Martin scolded with authority. "Grandpa, you're over seventy and still pulling tricks?" Ethan shot back.

Martin, sitting in a courtyard chair, laughed. "If I didn't, would you have come so quickly? Would you have brought her? Or were you planning to bring her to my grave?"

On the way, Ethan had told me that Martin moved back to the countryside after retiring. His grandma had passed away early, and Martin had been living alone since.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

Martin wore a gray shirt and neatly pressed dress pants, with gold-rimmed glasses, looking quite different from the typical rural elderly. Despite living alone, the courtyard was spotless, and even the small vegetable garden was weed-free. It was clear Martin valued quality of life-not luxury, but comfort and freedom in spirit. He mentioned death with a calm smile, which I admired. Living so peacefully in old age seemed like the best reward for a hard-working youth. However, knowing Martin was in the late stages of cancer made me sad.

"Grandpa, I was wrong," Ethan said, sitting on a small stool with a rare shy smile, looking like a teenager being scolded.

Martin seemed satisfied and smiled. "It's good you know you were wrong. I know you young folks like excitement and don't want to come to the countryside. But I love it here fresh air and peace."

I was nervous meeting Martin, but after chatting, I relaxed. To win his favor, I volunteered to cook.

While washing vegetables in the kitchen, a pair of hands suddenly wrapped around my waist. My face heated up, and I twisted my body. My hands were wet, so I nudged him with my elbow.

"Your grandpa is still outside," I whispered.

Ethan tightened his grip, pressing closer. His low voice whispered in my ear, "If you move again, I'll have sex with you right here. Last night's desire hasn't faded yet."

I didn't dare move. He kissed my hair with satisfaction. "I've decided to stay at my grandpa's for a week. I really haven't spent enough time with him."

I had no objections; in fact, I quite liked the simple rural life.

During dinner, Martin kept praising my cooking. He pointed at Ethan and said, "You're really lucky. Not many young women can cook these days."

Ethan, eager to show off, held my hand and looked at me affectionately. "Yeah, I feel very lucky too."

My face turned red, and to play along, I put on a shy expression and secretly pinched his palm. He exaggeratedly cried out in pain, and Martin asked, "What's wrong?"

My heart raced, fearing he'd tell on me.

"I got a cramp in my foot," Ethan lied with a straight face. I almost burst out laughing but managed to hold it in, deciding not to pinch him again.

Later, Ethan pulled me into a room. He didn't turn on the light and announced we'd be sleeping there together.

I knew his intention. Seeing I didn't respond, Ethan whispered in my ear, "We can't let Grandpa see us sleeping separately, can we?"

His voice had a hint of ambiguity, and his breath on my ear was ticklish. Nervously, I dodged and ran out.

Martin, watching TV in the living room, smiled and asked, "Emily, are there mosquitoes? I forgot to give you the repellent. Here, take it."

I took the repellent and reluctantly returned to the room. It was still dark. Ethan sat on an old wicker chair, legs crossed, smirking.

I glared at him, and he got up, took the repellent, and started spraying it. "It's still early. Do you want to sleep? If not, you can enjoy the night view. The tranquility here is hard to find in the city. But don't go to the balcony; there are many mosquitoes. When I was little, I loved sitting on the windowsill and watching the sky."

The windowsill was a large bay window next to the bed, perfect for stargazing.

I climbed onto the bed but sat on the bay window instead. The thin cushion was very comfortable.

Seeing the vast starry sky and hearing the croaking of frogs, I quickly felt at peace.

"The countryside night can also bring a lot of inspiration," Ethan's voice seemed very close.

"Inspiration for what? Writing poetry?" I joked without turning around.

Ethan didn't answer for a long time. Just as I was about to turn around, a hot body pressed against my back. He breathed into my ear and said in a husky voice, "Inspiration for making love."