She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 979

Morris watched her practically flee the room, his eyes narrowing slightly. Something about her demeanor had shifted in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on, and it left a sour, uncomfortable feeling settling in his gut.

By the time Helena walked out of the hospital, the sun had completely set.

Instead of driving straight home, she sat in her car for a long time, staring at the text messages from Swain.

His last message, sent a few hours ago, read: *What do you want for dinner?* followed by a pathetic, pleading cartoon sticker. She hadn't responded.

She finally typed: *Where are you? I'm coming to see you.*

Seconds after it delivered, her phone rang.

"You're done at the hospital?" Swain's voice was painfully cautious.

"I'm done." Helena softened her tone. "Are you at home?"

"I'm at that little pub next to the studio. The one we went to last month. Are you hungry? I can order you a plate of spaghetti."

Listening to the desperate, almost subservient edge in his voice, Helena felt a sudden pang of guilt.

"Okay," she said. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

The lighting inside the pub was dim and yellow. An acoustic guitarist strummed a slow melody in the corner.

When Helena walked in, Swain was already sitting at a small booth against the wall. Two steaming plates of spaghetti and two draft beers were waiting on the table.

She sat across from him, picked up her silverware, and took a bite.

The hot broth slid down her throat, warming her stomach. She set her fork down and looked across the table.

Swain was already looking at her. They both opened their mouths at the exact same time.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Swain, I—"

She knew, deep down, that half the things she had just said were lies she was desperately trying to force herself to believe. She was building walls to block out the dangerous, terrifying pull she felt toward the hospital.

But saying the words out loud made them feel a little more real.

"I know," she murmured, squeezing his hand back. "It won't happen again."

Swain smiled brightly, letting go to push her beer glass closer to her. "Then let's drink to making up."

Helena picked up her glass and clinked it against his. The cold liquid slid down her throat, making her shiver slightly.

She repeated the mantra in her head. *This is good. This is right.*

Swain was a normal guy. She was a normal girl. This was the life she was supposed to want—a small pub, a hot bowl of soup, heading home together after work, catching a movie on the weekends, pooling their paychecks into a joint account.

This, she told herself fiercely, was exactly where she belonged.