Hold My Tear, I’m Getting My Wife Back!

Leanne was exhausted, and when her body touched the bed, she was ready to drift off into sleep, forgetting her usual bouts of insomnia. Curtis wrapped his arms around her, gazing at her peaceful face under the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

The room was silent in the dead of night, her breathing slow and even, reminiscent of a cat luxuriating in a lazy morning nap.

During his two years in Starlake, he had longed for moments like these.

Curtis watched her for a moment, his fingers itching to touch her. He gently played with her eyelashes, so long and curly, fluttering like tiny fans. Leanne's eyelashes twitched at the touch, and she briefly opened her sleepy eyes to look at him before closing them again, unguarded and serene. Her nose was cute, too, perky and delicate. Curtis couldn't help but lean down and kiss it softly.

She didn't even open her eyes this time.

His kiss wandered to her soft pink lips, lingering and loving. "Leanne, I love you. Do you know that?" he whispered.

...

Leanne unsurprisingly overslept the next day and rushed to get dressed and out the door.

Curtis pulled her back gently. "What's the rush?"

"I'm going to be late," she complained softly, blaming him.

He ushered her to the breakfast table. Despite having slept later and woken up earlier than her, he was the picture of vitality.

Raising an eyebrow, he teased, "You can't blame me for that. How can I fight it when your folks made you so darn cute, pretty much designed to drive me crazy?"

At the hospital, Leanne was indeed late. As she entered her office, she missed the peculiar looks thrown her way. She was unaware that photos of her and Curtis at last night's glamorous charity gala had spread across the media.

The photos featured them standing side by side. Curtis was tall and striking, while she was stunning and radiant. The media had gone wild with phrases like "a match made in heaven."

Those images had circulated wildly among her colleagues, and it turned out that the Eye Department's Hottie Anne was not married to some average Joe but to the dashing and wealthy Mr. Curtis.

At lunch in the cafeteria, the air turned thick with tension as she approached her colleagues.

"What's up?" Leanne asked, sensing the shift.

Amy was about to spill the beans when Donna interrupted, "Leanne, you've been holding out on us. Curtis is your hubby, and you didn't spill the beans?"

The table erupted with chatter.

"We even gossiped about him right in front of you. How embarrassing!"

"Yeah, remember Amy said that wedding photo looked like you, and you didn't even deny it. Turns out the joke was on us!" Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

Amy couldn't help but interject. "She didn't deny it. It was Sandra who..."

"What does it have to do with me!" Aware she shouldn't spill it, Sandra was frustrated, "Looks like our little princess didn't want to be friends with us peasants. And if it weren't for her powerful connections,

how could she have stolen my promotion?"

Leanne shot her coldly. "You seem to have mistaken your lines. That sounds like something I should be saying."

Sandra was speechless.

Despite the shock, Donna said, "You might want to tone it down. Do you even remember how you entered this hospital?"

Sandra huffed and kept quiet.

"I didn't mean to hide it from you guys. You know, I was considering a divorce," Leanne said sincerely. "How about I make it up to you by treating everyone to dinner tonight?"

To show she meant it, she booked a high-end seafood buffet. However, she underestimated her colleagues' curiosity about her "mysterious, wealthy husband."

That evening at the restaurant, Leanne was bombarded with questions, ranging from their wedding date to how wealthy the Richardson family was. Leanne responded honestly. "I have no clue."

But as the questions veered off track, so did her responses.

"Does your husband eat the same food as us?"

She finally quipped, "He doesn't eat food. He dines on dollars."