The Flower That Grew from Ashes novel Chapter 18

On her fifth day post-surgery, Annelise was officially discharged.

The morning sun spilled through the windows, casting a deceptively warm, golden hue over her pale face. Harriet was busy packing her things, carefully tucking the daily essentials into an overnight bag.

The door swung open.

Hackett walked in. He wasn't wearing his standard doctor's coat today. Instead, he wore a flawlessly tailored, dark gray suit that only emphasized his lean, commanding presence.

In his hands was a fresh bouquet of white baby's breath. The tiny, delicate flowers looked as pure and fragile as stars scattered across the sky.

"Ready to head home?" He walked up to the bed and handed her the flowers. His voice was soft, and his eyes were filled with the perfect, measured amount of husbandly concern.

Seeing him, Harriet immediately stepped back, keeping her head down as she silently continued to pack.

"Yeah." Annelise took the bouquet, instantly catching the faint, earthy scent of the fresh stems.

She looked up at the man standing over her, staring straight into the mask of the flawlessly devoted husband, and felt nothing but absolute, freezing disgust.

Was his acting talent just pure, unadulterated genius, or had he simply perfected the art of lying over the last four years?

"I've already handled the discharge paperwork. The wheelchair is waiting outside. I'll help you up."

Without missing a beat, Hackett leaned over, naturally extending his arm to support her weight.

The hospital corridors were packed with nurses, doctors, other patients, and their families. Hackett kept his arm firmly around her waist, letting her lean her entire weight against him before carefully lowering her into the wheelchair. Every single movement was the pinnacle of gentleness. Envious whispers rippled through the hallway.

"Look how incredibly sweet Dr. Lehman is to his wife."

"I know, right? Gorgeous, brilliant, and that attentive? She must have saved a nation in her past life."

Annelise leaned her head against Hackett's shoulder, listening to the chatter with a completely blank expression. She played her part flawlessly, playing the role of the cherished, blissfully happy wife.

It wasn't until she was secured in the backseat of the familiar black Bentley, the heavy doors slamming shut and cutting off the outside world, that the facade finally dropped. The atmosphere inside the car immediately became suffocatingly quiet.

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