Primrose quietly held her breath and silently promised herself that she would never use the words "paralyzed" or "permanent" in front of him again.
After a long moment of silence, she realized Edmund still hadn't asked further about the poison.
Not a single "who?" or "why are you hiding the person's identity from me?"
He had simply done exactly what she asked, no questions, no pressure, no suspicion.
Why?
Was he really not curious?
Primrose should've felt relieved that he wasn't asking, but instead, it made her feel even more restless.
What if he was actually waiting for her to tell him first?
What if, deep down, he would be disappointed if she stayed silent?
And yet … not once did he think about any of that.
Not in his head, not in his expression. The only thought that seemed to echo in his mind was, "My wife's legs will be alright."
He kept repeating it in his heart, like it was a mantra over and over again.
