The Divorcee Amazed the World

“It’s okay, I accidentally knocked over the vase,” Helena bent down, about to pick up the broken pieces.

“I’ll do it; don’t touch it. You might hurt your hand,” Willis quickly walked into the bathroom, pulling her aside. He casually placed his phone on the sink, forgetting to hang up.

Helena found a trash bin and handed it to him, cautioning, “Be careful.”

“I have thick skin; I won’t get cut,” Willis picked up a few large shards and threw them into the trash.

“That’s nonsense. Whose skin can’t be cut?” Helena squatted down next to him, helping to pick up the pieces.

Willis stopped her, preventing her from touching, “In those two years, my temper was bad. I often threw things around, and you followed behind me, cleaning up every day. It must have been very frustrating for you.”

Thinking about those two years of hardship, Helena’s nose tingled, and tears almost fell.

She quickly lowered her eyes, saying gently, “I didn’t feel frustrated, really.”

Willis stared at her lowered long eyelashes, said after a while, “You, with such a good temper, don’t seem like a real person.”

Thinking of Yale’s words, Helena asked softly, “Is my personality somewhat boring?”

Willis chuckled, “It’s a bit.”

“I’ll hit you.” Helena lightly pushed his leg.

Willis smiled and held her hand.

Listening to the sweet talk between the two in the phone, Susan hung up in frustration.

With a loud “bang,” she threw her phone onto the car seat.

She didn’t speak all the way back.

Back at the Varley family.

Grace saw Susan’s bandaged finger, her face pale, and asked, “What happened to your hand? Why are you so angry?”

“My hand is fine, just a minor injury.”

“Then why are you angry?”This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - ©.

Susan was resentful, “Just a country girl who served as Willis’s maid for three years, and he protects her like that. I casually mentioned a few words about her, and he got upset, even hung up on my call. She picks up a broken vase, and he’s afraid she’ll cut her hand. He was supposed to take me to the hospital tonight; halfway through, he received a call from Yale, saying Helena got into her colleague’s car. He immediately got off, hailed a taxi, and went to find her.”

Grace couldn’t figure it out, “If he cares so much about her, why does he want a divorce?”

Susan kicked off her high heels, “Who knows? Last time, when Willis was drunk, he said the divorce with her wasn’t all because of me. He even said that proposing to me was just a diversion. I don’t know if he was telling the truth or just venting.”

“It’s probably just venting.”

Susan slipped on her slippers, walked to the sofa, and plopped down, reminiscing about the events of the day, growing angrier as she thought about it.

Grace comforted her, “If Willis, who looks like you, married Helena, it means he can’t let go of you. Don’t be anxious; take it slow and give him the process of reaccepting you.”

Susan frowned, “Seeing how well they get along, how can I not be anxious?”

“Being anxious won’t help. In situations like this, patience is key. Think of ways to win him back; that’s the real deal.” Grace handed her a cup of water.

Susan took the cup, pouted, and complained, “It’s all your fault. A year ago, Willis could already stand up. I said I would suspend my studies and go back to China to find him, but you stopped me, saying we should observe for a year. Now, look, they have feelings for each other, and I’m almost irrelevant.”

Grace gave her a disdainful look, “Even car accidents have consequences. If we don’t observe carefully, what if he relapses and ends up in a wheelchair? Would you be willing to take care of him for the rest of your life?”

Susan fell silent, sulking and drinking water.

After a few quiet seconds, Grace asked, “Did Helena accept the check you gave her?”

“No.”

Grace was surprised, “She doesn’t appreciate it? Three years ago, she was willing to marry even a person with lower body paralysis. What’s she pretending for?”

Thinking of this matter, Susan felt annoyed, “It’s all your fault.”

At the mention of this matter, Susan became infuriated. “Do you know how arrogant she is? She threw the check in my face, saying that if she hadn’t married Willis three years ago, she could still earn with her own hands.”

“With her own hands?” Grace sneered, “Someone who restores ancient paintings, is she that amazing?”

“I had someone look into it. Her grandfather, Ken, was quite famous in the industry, and she inherited his skills.”

“So what?” Grace scoffed, “If her hands become useless, let’s see how arrogant she can be.”

Susan suddenly widened her eyes, staring at her, “Mom, don’t mess around!”

One week later, at noon.

Antique Attic.

Helena locked the door to the restoration room and went downstairs to a nearby restaurant for lunch.

Entering a Hong Kong-style restaurant, she ordered a bowl of shrimp and egg fried rice, found a seat by the wall, and quietly began to eat.

Her temperament was gentle and calm, her skin porcelain white, her features delicate, and her slender fingers held the ebony chopsticks. She chewed slowly and elegantly, her refined manners standing out in the bustling restaurant.

After finishing the meal, Helena settled the bill, picked up her bag, and gracefully walked to the door, lifting her right hand to push the glass door.