It appeared that he had mistaken Tilda for Rosanna due to his intoxication.
A bitter smile crossed his lips.
ncing at Tilda, he noticed a basin and a bottle of alcohol on the bedside table, items used to lower one’s fever.
He realized he must have had a feverst night.
Did Tilda bring him back from the cemetery?
He pondered that she must have suppressed her dislike for him, even if just for one night, to take care of him.
Lyndon’s gaze softened as he looked at the sleeping Tilda.
He couldn’t remember thest time someone had taken care of him like this.
Since Rosanna passed away, he had indulged himself in self-destructive behavior on this day every year, letting the cold night air pierce him like the grief in his heart.
It seemed to be the only way to alleviate his pain.
Lyndon closed his eyes for a moment.Property ? of N?velDrama.Org.
When his thoughts slowly became clear, he lifted the quilt and got out of bed.
Seeing Tilda leaning her head on the edge of the bed, he bent down, carefully picked her up, and gentlyid her on the bed.
Despite his gentle movements, Tilda’s eyshes fluttered, as if she was about to wake up.
Lyndon softly patted her and cooed to help her drift back to sleep, just as he did with Sheldon.
She soon settled, her breathing bing even once more.
Lyndon watched her peaceful face for a while before leaving the room quietly.
The darkness outside had been reced by the bright morning light.
The warm winter sun rose slowly, ushering in a new day.
On the bed, Tilda gradually woke up.
As she gathered her thoughts, she looked around and suddenly sat up.
This was Lyndon’s room.
Why was she in his bed?
She remembered that Lyndon had a feverst night, and she had been trying to reduce his temperature.
She must have fallen asleep at the edge of the bed after his fever subsided.
Worried he might get sick again, she had decided to stay a while longer, but exhaustion had taken over.
Did he carry her to the bed?