Chapter 5

**Nora's POV**

Ever since the party, Chloe had assumed the role of Ethan’s official girlfriend. Every single day, she delivered lunch to the CEO’s office at Carter Enterprises.

To show off her "devotion," she personally picked up takeout from New York’s trendiest, most viral restaurants—greasy, spicy hot chicken, spicy Thai tom yum soup, and ramen loaded with chili oil.

She had no idea that during his three years of blindness, Ethan’s severe depression and irregular eating habits had left him with a terrible stomach ulcer.

And Ethan, desperate to make up for abandoning Chloe in the past, ate every single bite of those irritating foods without even blinking.

By the fourth afternoon, Ethan suffered an acute gastric spasm in the middle of a board meeting. He collapsed on the spot and was rushed to the ER in an ambulance to get his stomach pumped.

Late that night, the VIP ward smelled heavily of disinfectant.

Ethan lay against the pillows, his face pale, too weak to even open his eyes.

When Chloe found out his stomach had to be pumped, she couldn't handle the smell of the hospital or the sight of fluids, so she made an excuse and left.

And so, the person sitting by his bed taking care of him was still me.

In his half-asleep state, Ethan seemed familiar with my scent. He instinctively leaned toward me, resting his heavy head against my shoulder.

I didn't push him away.

I poured a cup of warm honey water and used a cotton swab to gently moisten his dry, cracked lips.

Then, I rubbed my hands together until they were warm and gently massaged his upper stomach in a slow, clockwise motion.

I had done this thousands of times.

During the countless nights when his stomach pain was so intense he broke out in cold sweats, I would stay awake all night, using my own body heat to soothe his pain.

Under my touch, Ethan’s tense brow slowly relaxed. His breathing grew steady, and he fell into a deep sleep against my shoulder.

I tilted my head slightly to look at his face. He was still incredibly handsome, but he no longer belonged to me.

I suddenly thought of the handwritten recipe book sitting in my apartment drawer.

It was a thick leather notebook, filled with over a hundred recipes for gentle, stomach-soothing meals.

To write that book, I, a medical student trained to hold a scalpel, had forced myself to become a nutritionist, my fingers constantly blistered from hot oil.

I still remembered the time I spent three hours making a soothing chicken noodle soup for him when he was at his angriest.

He had taken a bite, fell silent for a long time, and for once, didn't smash the bowl. Instead, he muttered, "Nora, your cooking isn't half bad."

That was the gentlest thing he had ever said to me during his darkest days.

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