Holly Wyatt frowned slightly and took out her phone. She typed a question: "Can you get out of bed this quickly after heart surgery?"
The moment Mrs. Fletcher saw that line of text, the face beneath her exquisite makeup twisted for a moment.
Holly Wyatt stared at her, her gaze fixed on the spot over her heart.
It had been less than a week.
'Could a heart surgery patient really be discharged this soon?'
"What a way to talk," Mr. Fletcher said, sitting beside Mrs. Fletcher and pulling her into his arms with a pained expression. "Your mother missed you. She insisted on coming to see you, and she even dressed up nicely so you wouldn't worry. Her wounds haven't even fully healed. How could you speak to your mother like that?"
"Honey…" Mrs. Fletcher cut him off at the perfect moment, a look of exhaustion on her face. "It's fine, I'm fine…"
Holly Wyatt watched the two of them, addicted to their own little drama, with an amused expression.
