Back to the ‘70s: My Life as the Trouble-Maker's Bride

When the food arrived, Annette took a deep breath. The aroma of the freshly cooked rice was so tempting, she almost cried. Finally—a proper meal.

But her appetite couldn't keep up with her excitement. She only managed to eat a third of it before she was full, then sat back contentedly, sipping tea while watching Stuart finish the rest of the food.

It felt strangely domestic. Wasn't it the husband's job to clean up the leftovers?

She smiled to herself, eyes crinkling with amusement.

After eating, they stopped by the police station to let them know Carl was awake. The officers who had gone to Riverbend Village hadn't returned yet, so they agreed to meet at the hospital later.

Annette walked beside Stuart, hands clasped behind her back. "I heard your mom say it was Laura who got someone to hurt Carl. Do you think that's possible?"

Stuart shook his head. "No."

Annette pursed her lips. "Because she's your childhood sweetheart, you don't think she's capable?"

Her tone held a faint trace of jealousy. She knew there was nothing between Stuart and Laura, but still, Laura had known him since childhood. She'd seen him at his worst and watched him grow up. That kind of familiarity stung a little.

Stuart frowned. "Don't be ridiculous. There's nothing between me and Laura."

Annette huffed. "You even taught her to write. Was it the hand-over-hand kind of teaching?"

Stuart blinked, confused by the odd question, but answered seriously. "No. I just corrected her grip and pointed out what she wrote wrong."

Annette muttered under her breath, "Still pretty close, if you ask me."

Stuart had no idea how to respond. He didn't understand why she was angry about something so trivial.

So he stayed silent.

Annette scowled. "Wooden block."

Honestly, he was so dense. What did he know about childhood sweethearts? She couldn't help but laugh aloud.

By the time they got back to the hospital room, the chaos had quieted. Grace sat at the bedside eating a steamed bun with a scowl. Clara was wiping tears in the corner.

Charles stood up when he saw them. "You two eaten? I can grab some buns."

Stuart shook his head. "We're good. How's everything?"

Charles sighed and looked at the motionless Carl, who lay in bed with his eyes open but unresponsive. "Same as before. Doesn't answer anyone."

Stuart stepped closer, gaze sharp. "Where did you go yesterday? Who did you meet? What did they offer you?"

Grace snapped upright. "What do you mean, what did they offer?"

Before she could go on, Carl finally reacted. He turned his head slowly toward Stuart, a twisted smile on his lips. "Why do you care? Didn't you cut ties with us?"

Stuart didn't flinch. "Take what's not yours, and next time you might not survive."

Carl's body trembled. He turned away, saying nothing.

Charles, seeing that Carl could still talk, urged him anxiously, "Tell us what happened. Who did this to you?"

Carl snapped, "Don't know them."

Annette stood nearby, watching this pitiful man. Honestly, he deserved to be left out in the wild for the dogs.

Grace pressed on. "Was it Laura? Did she send someone after you?"

Carl winced in pain and snapped again, "I said I don't know!"

Just then, two officers walked in. They'd met the night before, so they greeted Stuart before heading straight to the bed.

"Carl Dawson," one said sternly, "did you see who attacked you? Why did they do it?"

Carl, now meek as a mouse, mumbled, "I didn't see them."

The officer's tone grew harder. "I suggest you think carefully before answering. Just because you were hurt doesn't mean you're innocent. We've already investigated your village."

Carl clammed up.

The officer flipped open a notebook. "Have you recently met some outsiders? Played cards or gambled with them in the mountains?"

Grace was stunned. "Gambling? No way. Carl's a good boy! He wouldn't do that. And we're broke!"

The officers ignored her. "If you don't talk, and we catch the culprits, you'll still be charged for illegal gambling."

Carl paled even further. "I didn't know them. They asked for directions, then invited me for drinks… Then we played cards. I won a bit at first, then lost big. I couldn't pay, so they grabbed me last night."

Grace gasped. "You really gambled?"

The officer turned to Charles. "You're the village team leader, right? Did you know your brother was gambling?"

Charles shook his head. "Never."

"Did anyone come to collect debts?"

"No. That's why none of us knew."

Annette, standing by, found it strange. If he owed money, wouldn't they try to collect first? Scare the family? Throw paint on the door or make threatening calls?

But this? Maiming him outright? That didn't add up.

Stuart was thinking the same thing. Were these men really just gamblers, or was something more going on? If it was deliberate, what was their true motive?

The police asked Carl the same thing, but he had no answers. He didn't know why they didn't just demand repayment. They knocked him out and did what they did.

After a few more questions, the police left.

Everyone fell silent.

Grace sat in stunned silence. Her son had been mutilated over gambling debts. What could she even say now?

Annette had expected drama, but not this much drama. The plot just kept thickening.

Just then, the door opened again—and Sean walked in.