Chapter 7
The doctors and nurses came to cover her grandmother with a white sheet, forcibly pulling Claire away.
“Grandma…”
“Claire.” Ethan suddenly said urgently, “we need to go home right now. Tiffany’s parents are here, and they heard you’re good at painting. They want you to paint a family portrait for them.”
ier grandmother was being wheeled away to the morgue.
Claire chased after the gurney, stumbling and collapsing to the floor.
Ethan hoisted her over his shoulder and headed for the exit: “We need to hurry–can’t keep the elders waiting.”
Claire bounced helplessly on his shoulder, her sobs broken and desperate: “Ethan, please, I’m begging you–let me see my grandmother off one last time. Please, I’m begging you…”
Ethan didn’t slow down for a second: “Dead people don’t care about anything anymore. Whether you’re there or not, your grandmother won’t know the difference. Better to focus on the living–we can’t afford to offend Tiffany’s parents.”
When they got home, Tiffany’s parents were already there waiting.
Ethan respectfully served them tea, his attitude humble and deferential–like a prospective son–in–law meeting his future
in–laws.
Tiffany’s father asked his daughter: “Sweetheart, is he treating you well?”
Tiffany blushed shyly: “He’s so good to me, Dad. He renovated this whole house just for me, exactly how I like it. Mom, Dad, you and Buddy should come live here with me permanently.”
Her mother hesitated: “That doesn’t seem right, honey. You’re here to work as their nanny, not as the lady of the house.”
But Ethan quickly reassured them: “Please, make yourselves at home. I insist.”
“Mr. Thompson, are you married?”
Ethan’s eyes flickered for just a moment: “I was… but I’m widowed now.”
Tiffany’s mother glanced at Claire, who stood there like a walking corpse, and asked: “Then who is she?”
“She….she’s a friend of mine. I specially invited her to paint your family portrait.”
Ethan instructed her quietly: “Ms. Williams, I’ll leave the family portrait in your hands.”
Ms. Williams.
He’d completely severed any connection to her.
So what was next? Kill her off to become truly widowed, then marry Tiffany?
Claire turned and went into the storage room to get her art supplies.
Tiffany’s mother perked up, but still put on airs: “Even though you’re rich, you’re still a widower. Our Tiffany is a good girl
22:03
Two Chances, One Bullet: How His “Next Life” Promise Failed
84.3%
let’s try he ran anvolgud he amming to th
en molded respectfully Yes, yours whodunely righ
Afte nishing the path care avem buck to her room.
The emotional full of painting had drained when time energy she had left. She was completely exhausted.
When Ethan chime In, he was carrying a gines of milk: “Claire, you barely ate anything this afternoon. flave some milk.”
Claire stared at the white liquid, remembering what he’d said earlier that day.
Marned, but widowed.
So the glass of milk probably had… something in it.
Tonight’s version of Ethan seemed especially caring. He sat beside her and gently pulled her close: “Come on, sweetheart. Drink up.”
I need to use the bathroom,” Claire said. “I’ll drink it when I get back.”
Ethan didn’t suspect anything and nodded: “Okay. I’ll wait right here.“/
In the bathroom. Claire called Dr. Mitchell.
After she explained everything, he simply said: “Leave it to me.”
Still in the bathroom, Claire lit the final charm.
Finally, it was all over.
All their love, all their shared history–everything went down the toilet with the ashes.
When she returned to the bedroom, she didn’t say a word. She drank the milk.
Soon, she lost consciousness.
Just before everything went black, she thought she saw the red and blue lights of an ambulance getting closer…
22:03
