The Sleeper's Wrath and His Wife's Strike novel Chapter 83

After living two lifetimes, Lindsay was no longer the same person she’d once been. Even her state of mind had changed.

She schooled her features and steered the conversation elsewhere. “After taking the medicine Dr. Young prescribed, are you feeling any better?”

“About the same.”

“Should we schedule a follow-up?”

“No need. More pills won’t help,” Yves replied, fully aware of what Dr. Young had meant by “psychological issues.”

Once a knot in your heart unravels, you heal without any medicine.

“But you can’t just carry on like this. How about we make an appointment with a therapist?” Lindsay’s concern was evident.

Yves smiled faintly. “You’re really worried about me?”

“We’re married. Isn’t it normal for me to worry about you?” Lindsay answered without hesitation.

“If we weren’t legally married, would you still care?” Yves suddenly asked, his tone probing. Back before his accident, Lindsay’s eyes had only ever followed Lester. Why had she chosen him at the family dinner? He’d been little more than a shell of a man then—was it out of pity?

Lindsay didn’t skip a beat. “Even if we weren’t husband and wife, you’d still be my Yves in name, at least. It’d only be natural for me to worry about you.”

A flicker of disappointment flashed in Yves' eyes. Did she only care for him as family? Was there no love between a man and a woman at all?

A dull ache pressed against his chest, stealing his breath for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” Lindsay frowned, catching the shifting emotions on Yves' face.

He pressed his lips together. “Nothing.”

“Then should I still book that therapist for you?”

“Do whatever you think is best.”

Without delay, Lindsay pulled out her phone and made him an appointment. They were lucky—there was an opening that morning.

Soon, the two of them arrived at the psychiatric clinic.

That man really did have the luck of the devil.

If Mr. Quigley Sr. were still in Skyrim, Lewis would be facing the wrath of family justice right about now.

No one despised scandal and illicit affairs more than the old man.

Click—click—the sharp sound of heels echoed in the hallway, drawing Lindsay’s attention. She looked up and saw a familiar face approaching.

Ms. Cheryl Green. In that instant, Lindsay realized why the therapist had seemed so familiar.

They looked strikingly alike—were they sisters?

Cheryl stopped right in front of Lindsay, her gaze intent and searching, as if trying to size her up.

The scrutiny made Lindsay uneasy. She was just about to speak when Cheryl abruptly said, “Stop following her. Get lost.”

Lindsay stared, taken aback, her brows furrowing. “Are you talking to me?”