Isabella Weaver felt reassured: "Then let's go eat, I'm a bit hungry."
"I'll ask Aunt Hart to bring up porridge."
"No need, I'll just go downstairs to eat in the restaurant." It's a hand injury, not a foot injury, why wouldn't he even let her walk?
"Be good."
Harry Hunter gently coaxed her, made a phone call to Aunt Hart, and then went to the bathroom to get a damp towel.
He carefully wiped Isabella Weaver's hands and face, cleaning her tear-streaked face thoroughly, and nodded in satisfaction: "My wife is truly beautiful!"
Isabella Weaver couldn't help but laugh.
She figured she really couldn't be considered beautiful at the moment, right?
Her hair was a mess, she had just cried so her eyes were swollen, her hands were wrapped in bandages, her clothes disheveled...
Isabella Weaver looked down at her clothes and froze!
"Where are my clothes?!"
"Took them off."
Isabella Weaver's face suddenly turned bright red: "Who took them off?"
"Aunt Hart."
